


Bad Man

by BulmaseekingVegeta



Category: Dragon Ball, Pretty Woman (1990)
Genre: A little Jotaro thrown in never hurt anybody, Baba ala Edna Mode, F/M, Gender role reversal Pretty Woman Vegebul AU, Rags to Riches, Vegeta is a hooker enough said, smutty smut smut, vegebul smut is the best smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulmaseekingVegeta/pseuds/BulmaseekingVegeta
Summary: This is a Vegebul Au, a gender role reversal version of the amazing 90s movie Pretty Woman.Bulma Briefs is a brilliant business tycoon in Satan City for the week to close the biggest business deal of her life.  But stresses in her personal life... well, they make her want some relief from the tension.  After leaving a party full of glamorous people she could care less about, Bulma runs into Vegeta Prince, the Prince of Saiyan Boulevard.  It's a chance encounter that will change her week for the better and, at times, the worst.  However, at the end of the week, will their time together have changed both their lives forever?
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Chi-Chi/Raditz (Dragon Ball), Launch/Raditz (Dragon Ball), Launch/Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball), Maron/Roshi
Comments: 52
Kudos: 159





	1. Queen of Wishful Thinking

(Coverart by the iconic fanartist Nala1588! Check her out on her twitter, @nala1588! You will not be disappointed!)

**Bad Man-Chapter One-Queen of Wishful Thinking**

Glamorous party filled with glamorous people. There was the _klink_ of crystal champagne flutes filled with the finest Bruts multi-million zeni, Satan City incomes could buy. White-shirted, black-vested, black tied waiters with five-star, gourmet canapes balanced on silver-plated trays bobbed and weaved in and out and around social circles dripping with jewelry worth far more than the waiters could ever hope to make even if they broke it big in the film industry like they hoped to do with their next audition; dressed in raiment fresh from the most prestigious runways in the world or custom-made and personally bought from the world’s most elite fashion houses. Competitive talk spouted with a practiced nonchalance only used by the bourgeoisie or those that thought of themselves as the bourgeoisie. Private yacht measuring contests that were as phallic as anything kept between the legs and equally measured by the size of the bank accounts attested to by the girth of the wallets kept next to rear ends. Boasts about grand mansions met with boasts about even grander estates. Artwork purchased directly from high-end galleries or auction houses with infamous totals or bought directly from ‘up and coming,’ supposedly starving artists. 

She looked down on it all from where she stood on the third floor of the mansion, watching the throngs of Satan City’s upper class crowding around the infinity pool while a state-of-the-art sound system played the hippest music of the day throughout the main floor far below her feet. She gazed out the window like a princess stuck in an ivory tower… with a cell phone to her ear. She rolled her eyes again, sighed heavily again, having this same stupid conversation _again_.

“And I said I need you down here by tomorrow night. Look, I had my secretary make all the arrangements, didn’t Qira call you?”

_“I talk to her more than I talk to you.”_

“Then none of this should come as a shock to you. So tell me again _why_ you’re not packing your things and getting on the plane heading here?”

_“Because I have my own life, Bulma, I’m not just at your beck and call. I’m a fucking professional baseball player for God’s sake! I have a game!”_

“And what does that have to do with you flying out _after_ your game?” Even she heard the slight irritation turning to mocking in her voice.

_“You take me for granted, you know that!”_

Again, she sighed heavily, “No, Yamcha, I do not take you for granted.”

_“Really?”_

“Yes.”

_“You really believe that?”_

“Tch,” Bulma sighed. This was getting tedious, “Yes, now will you please get the hell down here.”

_“You are unbelievable! You know what, screw your dinner and screw you, and how about I just move out!”_

“If that’s what you want.” _Good,_ she thought, _then maybe we can finally get this stupidity over._

_“What I want?! Fine!! You know what, fine!! We’ll talk about it when you get back from Satan—”_

“Now is as good a time as any.” _Why delay the inevitable?_

_“Fine!! Just fine! Goodbye, Bulma!”_ _Click_.

“Goodbye, Yamcha.” Bulma pulled the cell phone from her ear and snapped it shut. One of the biggest weeks of her life and she had to deal with this hassle. Well, at least it’s over now. Bulma took one last glance out the window of her attorney’s guest bedroom where she had gone to call her now _ex_ -boyfriend after receiving the message from her secretary that Yamcha was refusing to be here with her… Bulma Briefs, one of the most powerful women in the world, _the_ most powerful woman in West City, turned sharply on her black high heels and walked out of the guest room.

As she walked down the stairs back to the second floor, she met up with a young man exiting the nearest bathroom to the main floor’s festivities in case the main floor bathrooms were in use.

“Oh, Miss Briefs,” he was decidedly chipper. It reminded Bulma of her mother. She deadpanned at him. Utilizing her long-honed skills at poker faces.

“Mister…?”

He muttered the name, but to be honest she’d tuned out as soon as the question left her lips as she began the descent down the flight of stairs that would take her to the main floor of her attorney’s house. To the man’s credit though, he didn’t let her blatant indifference stop him from prattling on at her. Somewhat impressed with his persistence, Bulma tuned in to what he was saying. Something about becoming one of Briefs Enterprise’s brokers? Or… whatever? His interest in the stock market could prove useful and his eagerness would be a help as well.

“So you’re interested in the stock market are you? Are you up to date on any of our current endeavors? Say, perhaps, how did the Turtle stock open today?”

“I, I, I don’t know, Miss.”

“You don’t know? The East City stock exchange opened over half an hour ago and you don’t know. Listen, if you want a higher position in this company, then you have to be on top of things like this. Find out.”

“But Launch—”

“Launch is my attorney, she is not one of my brokers and she is especially _not_ one of my brokers of…,” she turned to the man pointedly as they stepped down onto the crowded floor of the main story, “ _information_.”

The young man grinned wolfishly at her. Nodding. He understood; good, she wouldn’t have to entirely retrain him.

“Good, I want this whole thing locked in, signed off on, and filed by the end of the week.”

The young man nodded, Bulma shook his hand, then turned on her pinprick heels again and threaded her way through the herd. She stopped at the coat check, ridiculous notion that was holding her up now that she wanted to make a quick getaway, to snag her jacket on her way out the front door.

“Bulma?” Came the voice from behind her.

She knew that voice. In an instant she went from tapping her shoe frustratedly on the tiled floor to turning a smile on the man approaching her. He was smartly dressed even it was a rather dull brown ensemble, as taupe as taupe can be. “Blue,” she greeted the tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed man.

They hugged.

“Bulma, looking as beautiful as ever.” He smiled at her as they pulled back.

“Well, I’m thankful for the compliment from the General of Red Ribbon Industries.” Then something occurred to her, and she silently wanted to kick herself for even allowing the thought to nag at her, “Tell me, Blue, when we were dating, did you speak to my secretary more than you did me?” Try as she might, Bulma couldn’t keep her practiced smile from losing part of its shine as she looked to her ex for an answer.

“Bulma,” he fixed her with another smile, a softer one, and she steeled herself for the potential pity that was about to come her way, “I _married_ her.”

Bulma Briefs took the news in as she glanced down at his left hand and the golden band on one of the fingers there. _So that’s where—_

“Afterall, I couldn’t wait around for the rest of my life waiting for you to be ready.”

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes so full of kindness and the friendly mirth of a former relationship turned into honest and decent friendship.

“Well,” she fought to clear her throat, “Qira is certainly a lucky woman. Give her my love when you call her tonight and tell her to not worry about this deal. We’ll manage, we always do.”

“I will,” he chuckled, “Good night, Bulma.”

He leaned in and gave her cheek a sweet kiss as she said, “Good night, Blue.”

With that, she stepped out of his embrace, turned, and slipped on her jacket as she headed for the front door. _Kami damn it_ , she scowled, _Kami damn Yamcha and Kami damn relationships._

Tien Shinhan felt something brush past his shoulder, pushing it a little harsher than he thought was needed. This was his own home and… he looked up, his eyes widened, and he immediately excused himself to hurry off further into his house. It didn’t take him long to find his wife sitting on a chair chatting up some handsome man on the sofa, her hand on his knee. Tien leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Launch,” he hissed.

“What,” her hand left the other man’s knee.

“Bulma’s leaving.”

“What?” Launch’s eyes bugged.

Tien looked to their front door. Long, fluffy blonde curls bounced as Launch’s head snapped to her front door. _Aw shit!_ Quickly she shot to her feet and made a dash as fast as her stilettos could go…

“Kami, damn it,” she hissed again. And got the feeling that that wouldn’t be for the last time today or even possibly tonight if her insomnia held up. This deal was important and she was going to be damned if frivolous hassles were going to undermine her business acumen. She yet again yanked on the door handle without it budging at all. Fine then, if she couldn’t get it open that way, how about another. Her eyes immediately scanned what part of the locking mechanism she could see on the top of the inside of the door and her mind began circulating through all of the possibilities that it could indicate on the door’s interior. When she was younger, she had a natural knack for figuring out how things worked, what made them tick; it was a knack that served her well in the corporate world she now made her living in, _very_ well.

“Bee, Bee, Bee!”

She rolled her eyes and turned around just in time to greet a panicked Launch stumbling to a halt way closer to her than Bulma felt was warranted. She’d walked out of a party for Kami’s sake. That was all.

“Where you going?”

“I’m going back to my hotel.”

“But—”

“Give me the keys to your car.”

“What?”

Bulma sighed heavily, honestly her patience for people being slow on the uptake was wearing exceptionally thin after her conversations today, “There are so many people here that Adrian,” she gestured over at the tall and outstandingly muscular man with the piercingly light blue eyes and ginger eyebrows sticking out from under his chauffeur’s cap, “can’t get the limo out and this is _your_ car, right?”

Launch looked back at Bulma’s trapped limo and her massive chauffeur who just waved back at them while admiring a set of glass hummingbird lawn decorations. At least three other vehicles, one of which was another limousine, was in between. She turned back to Bulma and looked down at her bright red, _new_ sportscar.

“Yes.”

“Good, give me your keys.”

“But Bulma,” Launch pleaded even as she reached into her own business jacket’s pocket and withdrew her car keys. Arriving late to her own party thrown on Bulma’s behalf, she’d parked in her own driveway last and just shoved the keys in her pocket with little care for putting them away as she’d gone into instant schmooze mode the moment she walked through her own front door. Her husband, Tien, had put everything together like a dream and spent a lot while she’d been distracted by work with Bulma. But now, with Bulma basically storming out, it was all seeming to fall apart.

The teal-haired business executive snatched the keys from her attorney’s hand, “Make something up. You always do. I rely on you for that.”

Bulma slipped the key in the door, unlocked, and opened the door. She slid in quickly and shut the door to block out Launch’s portestations. Something about being nice to the car, blah, blah, whatever, Bulma just had to get out of here. She hated crowds and ass-kissing parties anyway. That was Launch’s realm, what she hired the bloodthirsty, battle-loving lawyer to deal with.

The chief executive officer of Briefs Enterprises analyzed the dashboard in front of her. It was generic, but there were differences that did denote the car’s newer model.

“Tch,” Bulma rolled her eyes, sticking the key in the ignition. _A car was a car_.

She turned the key and heard the motor start. She pressed the pedal, testing the engine, revving it a little. She glanced down beside her at the stick. Bulma wasn’t used to stick shift. Hell, she wasn’t used to driving herself at all! Her hand wrapped around the knob and she shifted it out of park and into drive. Staring straight ahead, she pressed her toe down on the gas.

The car lurched forward. Bulma readjusted… then readjusted again. She vaguely heard Launch’s tight voice yelling after her about had Bulma ever driven a stick. No, but that was beside the point. Bulma readjusted again and began leapfrogging out of the driveway. Clearing other vehicles, barely. After the last car, Bulma felt confident enough to push down firmly on the pedal. She blazed away. Something moved at the top of her vision. She glanced up to see Launch trying to run after her in stilettos. Bulma returned her eyes to the road ahead and slowed as she came to the main road. She glanced left then right. Managed to find the turn signal and pulled onto the main road going left and up further into the hills. Again, she heard Launch yelling something at a distance. Something about going the wrong way. _Whatever…_

She sped the car along the road, following it up and up and up. Higher and higher past mansion after mansion. All pristine courtesy of gardeners and landscapers and all sorts of people that went unseen. Up ahead she saw another turn coming and… suddenly hit her brakes. Screeching to a halt in mid left turn. She was in the middle of a dead end. She had to turn around.

“ _Shit_.” She hissed.

Jerkily, she pulled the expensive sportscar forward… then back… then forward at an angle… then back at an angle… then she sped out and down the road like a bat out of hell.

“Why!” Bulma Briefs yelled. “Why the hell is this city so Kami damn complicated!”


	2. Creature of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy post-Valentine's Day treat with the first two chapters of this story! Eat, drink, and read Vegebul!

Glutes the color of caramel and just as lickable flex and ripple on either side of the black satin thong’s slim strip; it’s bulk of fabric cupping his ball sack and manhood admirably. He rolled over in the dim apartment and shut off his radio alarm blaring pop music meant to get people in the mood for hitting the clubs. He grudgingly opened his eyes to the window above his bed. It was dark outside, but not too much yet, the sun must have just gone down. Time to go to work. 

He stood up from bed having slept on top of what he used to pass for sheets and padded over to the stove. As he’d suspected, his roommate had left some ramen in the pot. It was cold and had soaked up pretty much all of the broth, but it was food. A dirty fork retrieved from the sink conveyed the mushy noodles safely to his mouth. Two forkfuls and the scraps he’d been left with were gone; he lifted the pot to his lips and tilted, slurping up the spoonful or so of broth. He dumped the pot and fork in the sink, stomach protesting loudly for more but he didn’t have the time and that was the last package of ramen in the apartment. He had to get out there and get to work. Maybe he could use a few zeni from the night to stop by the bodega at the end of the street and pick up some more, ramen was on sale right now, four for a zeni. Sometimes there was a benefit to getting the expired shit the hell out of the store.

On his way back to bed, he swiped his clothes from the floor. Normally, he wasn’t so messy, but last night had been rough. Not enough customers. He’d stayed out _way_ past his usual end time of daybreak just to see if he could pick up a few of the on-their-way-to-work crowd. But no, no customers. A few interested but no takers. He let the bustle and uproar from the hallway outside his door and the street outside his window wash over him as he slipped the black pleather pants over one foot and up one muscular calf before starting on the other leg. These were his best work pants. So skintight they showed off every slip and slither of sinew and every nook and crevasse of finely etched muscle. And that they were actually two-tone accentuated that. In one light, they were black and at another angle they were midnight blue. So skintight he had to slip them up his legs an inch at a time. So skintight he had to slip them up his legs an inch at a time. But the effort meant the reward of showing off his fantastic ass. And that meant money.

He carefully threaded his lilac-colored leather belt through every loop of his waistband. The pants were tight enough that he didn’t really need it, but for some reason women and the men that patronized him really got a kick out of watching him unbuckle it… then loosen it… then unbuttoning his tight pants… unzipping his fly before reaching in underneath his thong and withdrawing himself for their viewing pleasure before getting down to the business they’d negotiated.

He reached down to the bed and picked up the wine red, low cut tank. Slipping it easily over his head and down his torso. It didn’t hug his body near as much as his pants, but it still should off the impressive work and natural Adonis-ness of his physique. What little it left to the imagination earned him more money for someone dying to get a peek at what was underneath. The price of admission. He smirked as he tucked its hem into his pants before zipping up, buttoning up, and buckling up. 

He parked himself on his bed. Forgoing socks, he slipped on his lilac boots tipped and trimmed with metallic gold paint. Then reached behind him for his dark blue, denim, bolero vest. He slipped it on with practiced ease. He stood up and made his way over to the bathroom to get a good look at himself in the one mirror his ramshackle apartment had. Yep, the vest showed off his muscular arms perfectly. He made his way back over to his bed and picked up something from his nightstand. He slipped it on over his head, grooming it nicely. Making it a decent amount shorter than his natural hair, spikey in a different way than his natural hair, and quite a different color. It wasn’t only men that preferred blondes. He took one look then another from a different side. He was ready to go to work. Well, almost. He swung by his nightstand again to pick up his leather, lilac-colored gloves. They were a really badass looking motorcycle type and they read absolutely dangerous bad boy after he cut the fingertips off. He had found in his line of work that women liked a bit of rough. Liked to fuck it in a car or cheap, by-the-hour motel for a quick session of letting out their dirty side. Of course, he opened the door to his apartment and was met with the full force of all the screaming and yelling that rang through the hallways day and night, he was what his clientele would consider _dirt_.

He shut the door and locked it securely behind him. Stepping out and falling into the line with the other dregs of society that called this squalid, rent-by-the-month hotel home. There were others like him here, other hookers who worked the streets at night, and plenty of other types. Drug dealers. Drug _users_. Women and the screaming children hiding out from husbands or boyfriends that beat the crap out of them. People who scraped a meal together from dumpsters and garbage cans in back alleys. The mentally ill that managed to panhandle enough for rent and the aluminum foils they decorated their windows with. He trudged along with their sorry evening procession down the flights of stairs from the top floor… until he got to the top of the last flight of stairs.

Paragus was down below talking, or more rather _yelling_ , at one of the other hookers that called this place home.

“Look, it’s quite simple to understand. The rent is due today! Right now! You fork over the money by the end of the night and you get to live here another month. You don’t pay me and you can think twice about coming back. Do you understand me!” He barked at the girl, making her cower away from him.

The look of sheer fear in her dark eyes. Even from this distance, he could tell she was trembling.

_Shit_ , he hissed to himself. That was right. It was rent day. Paragus would come after _him_ next and the old, sleazy man took a perverse pleasure in humiliating and degrading him.

Quickly, he raced back up to his apartment. He might, just _might_ have the month’s rent saved in his and his roommate’s secret stash. That was assuming his roommate hadn’t tapped into it. A _big_ assumption.

Safely inside, he raced back into the bathroom and lifted the lid on the back of the toilet. He nearly threw the porcelain lid out the bathroom door and across the apartment.

The fucking bastard had taken it! _All of it!_

He shoved the lid back into place and raced out to his front door. He locked it. That would hold off Paragus. The old bastard would just think that he and his roommate were already out working. But he would come back, Paragus _always_ came back. Paragus liked humiliating and being a sick, twisted son of a bitch to people, especially younger men, but he loved money more. And he loved taking it from others even more than that.

There was no other choice. No other way.

He dashed to his bed. Grabbed his wallet from his nightstand and slipped it into the inside pocket of his vest. He slipped out his window and into the dark, grim, grimy night of Satan City.

* * *

He was going to kill him. He was going to _fucking. Kill. Him!_ How stupid could that asshole be?! How careless?!

His pace was speedy. His step firm. His look intense. Like he was a man with places to go and people to see. Which he did, but first things first. He needed to find his roommate. The asshole had just made this night a _lot_ more important. It was bad enough that last night had been so slow and if this night went the same way… shit, he’d be homeless. Again.

Well, if he had to earn the rent tonight, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be earning it alone.

He stopped at the intersection and waited for the signal to cross. As the seconds ticked by, he wanted to scream. His blood was boiling. He wanted to beat the crap of his roommate, the great big dumb oaf. He wanted to beat the crap out of anyone near him—

“Eh, welcome to Satan City. What’s your dream?” He looked beside him at the vagrant that showed up out of nowhere. There was a wholesome look in the man’s eyes that let him know the man was a relatively benign crazy, his dirty and worn clothes letting him know that this one lived on the streets themselves. Most likely doing what he was doing now and shouting random shit of encouragement in his outbursts of insanity.

“Eh, man, what’s your dream?” The stranger repeated.

“Tch,” he looked away just in time to see the signal change and the pedestrian signal go green. Thankfully, the stranger didn’t follow him as he stomped off across the street. _Dreams, really?_ Those were for children and he stopped being one of those a while ago.

He looked around him. After all, who dreamed of this? No one, that’s who. The streets weren’t paved with gold here or cobblestoned for the prancing feet of horse drawn carriages; they were paved with vomit, urine, and worse, and yes, there was indeed worse. What crunched under your feet wasn’t stone, it was used syringes or vials or pipes of whatever drug someone was doing to escape or die. There weren’t the elegant horns announcing the arrival of royalty, they were sirens on the police cars and ambulances blowing through to the newest crime scene. And if it wasn’t them, then it was the alarm of a car being broken into. A near hourly occurrence as soon as the sun went down. When he dreamed as a child, it was nothing like this. When he dreamed now, it was about not eating half a package of ramen so that he didn’t starve to death or mixing packets of tomato sauce with water and lying to himself that it was hot tomato soup.

No, there were no dreams out here anymore. Not for him.

Suddenly a throbbing clenched his chest. Deep and coming up from his feet. His dark eyes narrowed at the glowing neon monstrosity the bass booming was coming from. Club Frieza. This would be the first place his roommate would go to spend the hundreds of dollars they needed to keep a roof over their heads. He scowled at the bouncer. The great big bouncer wearing purple and had his curly hair ridiculously styled to look like he had horns coming out of his head cringed and practically scurried out of his way. He and his temper were a familiar acquaintance of Ginyu’s. The man to move his ass out of the way, job be damned, when he was on a warpath.

This would be the _only_ place his dumbass friends would go to spend their hard earned and already earmarked money.

A grand party befitting the trendy nightspot, despite its seedy location, was raging inside. Pink lights illuminated the dim interior. Glitter rained down from the ceiling onto throngs of scantily dressed men and women writhing like idiots to the tracks being laid down by the DJ up on the stage. All around him were glamorous people enjoying a glamorous party. But he ignored it all. Instead his eyes zeroed in on the spiral staircase heading upstairs to his right. He headed straight for them. Taking them two at a time. Laughter drowning out the music as the upper levels rose above the din, but not above the partying. This was the private area. The VIP area. The least respectable spot in the joint. Stepping up into the room, his eyes had no choice but to focus on the only table up here. Surrounded by a dark purple velvet bench with a high back. Tufted. And there his roommate was. Raditz Son was laughing it up next to the simpering, laughing jackass that was Zarbon. After a few moments, they noticed him.

“Vegeta,” Raditz cheered.

Finally.

Vegeta Prince stepped forward. His eyes narrowed even more dangerously at his roommate. Even at a distance and in pretty much shit lighting, he could tell that Raditz was fucking high. So that was it. That was always it. He’d come to his favorite dealer, who also so happened to be the local pimp, to spend their rent money on fucking drugs.

“Where is it, Ray?”

“What,” Raditz giggled.

“Where’s the fucking rent money?”

“Huh,” the idiot tried to deadpan but ended up descending into hyena’s laughter again.

“The rent money, Raditz. Where the fuck is it! It’s due tonight!”

“Hey, you know who’d be able to spot us the money?”

Vegeta’s eyes flitted to Zarbon. The olive-skinned bastard reclining on his velvet like some Roman noble. He looked back at Raditz.

“No.” His fists clenched at his sides.

“Aw, but _Vegeta_ ,” Zarbon purred, “I’d be very good to you. Treat you well.” He said as he reached out and petted Raditz’s long, black hair.

Vegeta’s stomach lurched. “I said no.”

“But Zarbon here—”

“Then why don’t _you_ work for Zarbon.” Vegeta snapped before turning on his heels and stomping off.

_Fine, then, just fine. If I have to earn the rent tonight by myself, then I will._ _Shit,_ he didn’t have many rubbers with him. He hoped his clients were going to be more into oral tonight or watching him jerkoff rather than any actual fucking.

By the time his boots hit the main floor of the nightclub, he heard the bounding footsteps coming down the stairs after him.

“Geets!”

Vegeta spun on his heels just in time for Raditz to hit the brakes on his heels. Reeling backwards.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Okay, okay, Gee—Vegeta,” Raditz quickly corrected himself, holding up his hands in surrender in the face of his friend’s infuriated glare.

“I mean, Gods damn, Vegeta.” Raditz straightened up. Shrugging off his own exasperation, “Live a little, will ya’?”

“Paragus was looking for the rent.” Vegeta stated matter-of-factly. “So where _exactly_ would you like me to live now that _you’ve snorted our rent money up your FUCKING NOSE!_ Where do expect us to _live?!_ ” Vegeta’s lips curled around the word with disdain. “ _With Zarbon?!_ ”

Raditz scoffed and rolled his eyes with dramatic effect. But the truth was he didn’t exactly relish the idea of Zarbon becoming his pimp, he’d seen what living under Zarbon’s collar and leash was like. And it would really be a collar and leash. The green-haired, good-looker was also a good talker. He schmoozed and showed prospective new recruits to his ranks a seemingly good life. Like pretty much residing in this place’s number two VIP room, the number one being reserved for the club owner, Frieza Cold. And that was another problem, Zarbon himself was owned. By Frieza and he was notorious on the streets for being, well… there was a reason Zarbon’s charmed lie only lasted so long as you hadn’t agreed to become one of his hookers. Once you did, all that glitz, all the glamour currently surrounding Raditz, would be gone. All of this, Raditz had seen personally first-hand with others that walked the streets turning tricks, was meant solely for Zarbon. This was his life and he used it as a very effective lure. Sure, Raditz came here to play. Zarbon through Frieza and this nightclub specifically, the hippest and trendiest place in the entire city, had access to the best drugs. Some really good shit. So Raditz let Zarbon ‘groom him’ or schmooze him with the best stuff at the discounted cost of his and Vegeta’s apartment’s monthly rent. Also, Raditz Son knew full well that Zarbon wasn’t really interested in adding him to his collection, it was Vegeta. Zarbon wanted to add Vegeta to his collection. For some strange reason, maybe it was Zarbon’s taste for muscular, young men or maybe because on the streets Vegeta was considered an ‘exotic’, but the emerald Adonis definitely wanted Vegeta Prince. And he was willing to do anything to get him. Including sharing an extended taste of the charmed lie with Raditz in the hopes that Vegeta’s best friend would be able to schmooze him under Zarbon’s spell.

Radtiz sniffed, wiping the back of his hand under his nose.

Vegeta saw a torrent of emotions play over his friend and roommate’s face. He still didn’t know why the long-haired oaf did the things he did. Why the drugs? Why the alcohol when the drugs weren’t in ready supply? But he did know one thing…

“He wanted you to get me for him again, didn’t he?”

Raditz’s averted gaze slid back to Vegeta. The pounding beat of the dance music stifled the air between them and the throngs of spasmodic thrill-seekers tightly enclosed them.

“Yeah.” He said quietly.

Vegeta nodded once. “Come on then, let’s get out there and go to work. We’ve got rent to make.”

Vegeta turned and started heading for the door. By his second step, Raditz was right there walking along beside him. They left Club Frieza, passed Ginyu trying desperately to show his woefully misguided dance moves to some definitely underage girls trying to flirt their way into the club, and broke free into the night air of their side of Satan City.

“So was the shit good at least?” Vegeta asked as they passed under a streetlight, heading to their usual working spot.

“Yeah,” Raditz laughed with a big Cheshire cat grin on his face, “the best. You know I wouldn’t sell you out for anything less.”

Vegeta smirked, “And he still hasn’t figured out that you’re using him yet?”

Raditz smirked, “He has, but he still only has eyes for you. So he humors me.”

“Yeah, well, he can keep dreaming.”

“Eh, man, what’s your dream?”

They kept walking past the stranger.


	3. Looking for Directions to a Good Time

“Hey!” Raditz shouted as he and Vegeta headed to their usual corner. Up ahead, he saw an intruder. Some _other_ guy looking to use their corner! _Their_ territory! “Get your ass out of our spot!” The long-haired man shouted. His full mane of spiky black hair swaying back and forth behind him as he charged up the sidewalk to the offender.

The guy didn’t hear him… or was more likely ignoring him. It was a well-known fact of the streets that Raditz Son had a loudmouth and used it to great effect regularly. He ran right up to the other man. Catching him off guard as he grabbed an arm and spun him around to face Raditz with Vegeta at his back, watching everything calmly.

“I _said_ get your ass out of our spot, Cunber!”

The two long-haired, wild-eyed men squared off. Raditz’s dark eyes bored into the ruby red ones of Cunber. The intensity held for a moment… Cunber, slightly larger and more muscular than Raditz and definitely even more so than Vegeta, the distinctly smaller of the three, weighing his odds in a direct fight, but… his red eyes flitted to Vegeta waiting quietly behind his friend. If Vegeta joined in, which was another well-known fact of the streets that Vegeta was a far better brawler than any of them out here short of the gang that hung out on Frieza Cold’s pay, the fight would most assuredly _not_ go in Cunber’s favor.

The older, bigger man closed his eyes for a moment, letting all the intensity slip from his tightened shoulders. Then he flicked a hand up to casually flip some of his hair back over his shoulder so the tips of all of it once again brushed against the back of his thighs through his baggy, denim blue pants.

“Really, come on, Raditz. Everything is fine. No need to be such a dick.” With a shrug of his burly shoulders, flexing his deep red, tank top over his rippling body, Cunber turned on his dirty, white boots and began walking away with his hands in his pockets.

“You wish your dick were as big as mine.” Raditz mocked to the other man’s retreating back. But left it at that. He turned back around to Vegeta, who had since taken up position against the pole of the streetlight. Leaning his back against it, one of his legs hiked up so that the flat of his booted foot pressed against the cold metal, and his arms crossed over his chest. His head was lowered with his eyes closed. Raditz smirked at the sight; that was Vegeta’s thing when the night was getting started, some sort of meditation. Well, Raditz doubted meditation was what it was really all about, more like looking more of the part of the aloof bad boy. It was blatantly eye catching when all the rest of them approached vehicles asking if anyone wanted a good time and Vegeta, the Prince of Saiyan Boulevard, stood back, leaning nonchalantly like he didn’t give a flying shit about whoever was in the car, like he didn’t have the time for them, and saying nothing but exuding this magnetism that immediately got a chick’s eye. His impressive body kept the eye on him and he usually ended up winning the bid for attention and thus earned the money that they all had been vying for.

Raditz shrugged it off and began to casually pass between Vegeta’s streetlight and his own selected one a handful or so of feet away. Both men keeping their attentions on the street. Waiting for their first job of the night.

* * *

Bulma struggled to stay straight as she glanced out her window for about the billionth time. She’d had to roll the damn thing down to see out in the first place. It was tinted! Not as dark as the rear windows, but still, far darker than Bulma felt comfortable with. It was clear that either Launch didn’t take this thing out at night or she had one hell of a chauffeur. And Bulma knew for a fact that Launch didn’t have anyone driver her or her husband Tien around. So, this thing really didn’t see any nights on the town. Typical. Like the party thrown in Bulma’s honor, it was pretty much all for show. A glamorous party that was thrown well early in the day. An expensive sportscar that was only taken out during the day. Everything was meant to be seen. And to be seen with Launch. She was, in every sense of the phrase, a clout chaser. Riding Bulma Briefs’, famous owner and CEO of Briefs Enterprises, coattails to whatever heights Bulma chose to ascend to. And right now Bulma was ascending to the heights of a five billion zeni business deal. The party had been to more formally introduce Bulma to Satan City society and its business elite. And to show how close to all of that Launch was.

And Bulma hated all that crap.

And she hated even more that she’d stormed out of there without really knowing where the hell she was going. Well, not true. Exactly. She knew she was heading back to her hotel. What she didn’t know was how to actually get there and getting down of that Kami damn hill that Launch and Tien lived on had been ridiculously confusing and irritating and infuriating. As if her boyfriend, now _ex_ -boyfriend ditching in her during one of the most important business deals of her career and life hadn’t done that already, her ire just kept building. And being lost in fucking Satan City didn’t help!

The light turned green and Bulma hit the gas. Speeding forward. But just as quickly as she started, she eased her foot off the gas, slowed the vehicle down, and pulled off to the side of the road near a rather rundown looking shack of a… well, she supposed someone could live there. She certainly wouldn’t have thought so, but then again she’d thought that about ever house she’d seen in the clearly deeper parts of the city she’d driven into. At least there was an old man bald man sitting outside of it. He was wearing glasses in the middle of the night, although she was trying to figure that he was possibly blind to explain that, but what was really disconcerting to her was the fact that he was sitting on the front stoop of the ramshackle place talking to a big stuffed gorilla and a much smaller stuffed cricket. Fully prepared to pull that hell away as fast as she could just in case, Bulma leaned her head out the window and called.

“Excuse me,” she caught the man’s attention, “do you know which way to the Satan City Grand Hotel?”

The guy laughed at her. Really laughed. Like she’d just told him the best joke ever. For a moment she feared that he was going to either fall of his stoop or have a heart attack or both he was laughing so hard.

“Um,” she began again. But he cut her off.

“That’s funny! That’s really funny! You think the Grand is around here!” He burst out into raucous laughter all over again.

Bulma rolled her eyes and pulled back out onto the road. Speeding away from the sarcastic, old jerk.

* * *

“Shit, this night is slow!” Raditz exclaimed. Pacing like an anxious cat between the two lampposts now.

It’d been a little over an hour and neither he nor Vegeta had gotten a single interested person. No one. Nothing. It was looking like they were going to have to work well into the morning. Or perhaps not even go home at all and just find someplace to hide out from Paragus till the next night started and work that one as well before heading back. Either way, neither one of them could afford to return to their apartment without the rent Paragus would be demanding from them as soon as they stepped foot on the premises.

Vegeta couldn’t help but scowl. Last night had been slow too. This was not good. He didn’t relish the idea of having to find a place to sleep in the park, again. He’d been busted enough for prostitution. He’d didn’t need to start developing an extended rap sheet for loitering. Gods damn it, that was all he needed. _This_ was all he needed. He gritted his teeth. Exposing them and his canines to the cold night air. _Fuck!_

The revving of the engine was the first thing to reach their ears. Both men perked up, turned, and looked back at the intersection they were stationed right next to. The yellow sportscar came tearing around the corner. Fast. Suddenly it hit the brakes. Stopping with an almighty screech ten feet further down the street than Raditz was stationed. Both men stared.

“Holy shit,” Raditz gasped, “Is that… I mean… Is that really the new Aston Martin Vantage?!”

Vegeta nodded. “I believe so.” Although he really couldn’t believe his eyes.

All elegant, fast lines like a predator on the hunt. The color of pale honey blonde that seemed every bit the hair color of the wholesome girl next door.

“Looks like someone is definitely slumming it tonight, huh?” Raditz said.

Vegeta nodded. Definitely. You don’t drive a car like that around here.

Vegeta pushed himself off his post and stepped up beside his friend and roommate. They watched the car for a moment. Expecting it to drive away.

But it wasn’t.

Was the driver waiting? For one of them? Really? Was this happening?

“You should be the one to go over to it.” Raditz finally spoke up, not the only one to sense the opportunity. “You know the fancier types like you best.”

Vegeta nodded. He began to approach the most expensive thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Come on!” Raditz called after him. “Work it! We need it!”

Vegeta’s jaw set, he walked up to the passenger’s side door then leaned down to look in through the lowered window. It was a woman. Looking out her window. Vegeta watched and waited, reflecting the hunter in the wild aspect that this car was famed to exude and with a devious smirk on his lips that seemed to drive women wild.

Suddenly she turned to him.

“Do you know which way to the fucking Grand! For fuck’s sake, why is this hotel so damn hard to find!”

He gaped at her. Yeah, he hadn’t expected that. So she wasn’t looking for a good time… But that didn’t mean she didn’t need something from him. And that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to get his money’s worth for it either.

His hunter’s smirk slipped back on his face, he answered, “Twenty zeni and I’ll tell you.”

Her head snapped from its aggravated search to stare at him. He held her gaze cockily… swayed his hips lazily…

“Tch,” she scoffed, rolled her eyes, and looked away from him again. “Steep price,” she dismissed.

His smirked died, “With a ride like this, you can afford it.”

“It’s not my car.” She kept looking everywhere but at him. Searching for any semblance of… well, anything even remotely resembling what the word ‘grand’ would mean.

_Okay then, so that’s the name of her game._ He grinned, sensing another opportunity, “Well, then, your _husband_ can afford it.”

“Not my husband’s. I’m not married. It’s my friend’s car.” Bulma’s frustrations were on a knife’s edge. She wanted to start punching the steering wheel.

“Well, your _friend_ ,” she rolled her eyes with an audible groan at his lewd purring again, “can certainly afford it if he—”

“She,” she interrupted. Giving it one last go at looking around for any landmarks to guide her.

Vegeta’s eyebrow quirked. _Oh, so that was it. She wasn’t interested in men. Lesbian. Okay._ So he wasn’t going to get lucky tonight. _Just directions it is. But…_ he could still turn this to his advantage. _This little discussion won’t be a total loss._

“Fifty zeni,” he began, drawing her eyes back to him, “and I could show you.”

“And why would I need you to show me?”

Wow, she certainly is a snippy thing.

“Because you drive this thing like shit.”

“And you could do better?”

“Probably anyone could do better than you. Don’t you know how to drive?”

“That’s what I hire other people to do for me.”

“So what’s your problem then? You’re ‘hiring’ me to drive you back to your hotel.”

Bulma’s lips pursed together as his eyes stayed fixed on her. His smirk was gone, the swaying of his hips had long since stopped; he was like her, pure businessman. Well, at least _that_ she could deal with.

“Fine. Fifty zeni.” She sighed then opened then driver’s side door.

Vegeta expected her to get out, but instead she simply unbuckled herself, slid over the center paneling, and into the passenger’s seat. She met him face to face. And he had to say in the better lighting of the streetlight, she was absolutely gorgeous. He’d seen beautiful women before, but this, she was in a different league than what normally came down here to him. She had exotically colored teal hair pulled into a tight bun high up on the back of her head. Her bangs hung like elegant tendrils to frame her face in teal, setting off the extraordinary sapphire blue of her eyes and the smooth porcelain of her skin. Her lips were unmarred by lipstick and seemed naturally stained a strawberry pink the shade of candy floss. _Wow_ , Vegeta thought, _just… wow._

“Get in, Homeboy, and show me what you got.”

Normally that was an invitation for him to get in the car, undo his pants, and slip his dick out for his customer’s viewing pleasure. This time though, the pleasure was all his.

“Buckle up, Woman.” He purred at her.

She rolled her eyes with an annoyed groan again. “Just get in.”

He straightened up and walked around the front of the car. Again, if it were his normal night, that saying had a completely different meaning. As he prepared to slip down into the driver’s seat, he gave Raditz a nod. Raditz grinned. Hooting. This time it was Vegeta’s turn to roll his eyes with an annoyed groan. Really, sometimes his friend could be such a dumbass.

Vegeta shut the car door beside him and suddenly froze. Everything around him was covered in black suede rather than the smooth, semi-glossy leather interior he was expecting. Somehow the suede made it look even more luxurious and expensive than he’d been expecting and he’d been expecting a lot of ostentation.

The _click_ beside him snapped him out of his reverie, “Well?” She was looking at him, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling him with an aggravated look. Apparently he was wasting her time.

Vegeta reached over beside him and pulled the seatbelt over him. He clicked it into place then wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel. His dark eyes slipped over to look at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Did you have any idea what you were doing with a machine like this?”

“Yes, going fast.” She was staring straight ahead. Clearly waiting for him to get a move on.

“No, you weren’t.”

Her eyes slipped to him. Still waiting, but for something else this time. His explanation.

“Want to really open her up and see what she can do in the right hands?”

“I thought you were taking me to the Satan City Grand Hotel.”

“I am and who says we can’t have any fun on the way.”

“What do you mean?”

He reached underneath for where the seat latch normally was in a car. A latch he was very familiar with. He found it and pulled. His legs pushing the seat all the way back. She gaped at him and he smirked, relishing her shock. He slapped his thighs. Her perfectly coifed, teal eyebrows rose.

“Sit here.”

“What?” She nearly squeaked.

He unclicked the seatbelt and held it open like he was offering to share a blanket with her. He slapped his thigh again.

“Come on.”

Her mouth moved, but no words came out. She was stunned speechless.

“Trust me, you can afford to have a little fun.”

He patted his thigh this time.

She glanced around. Looking like she was about to get caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Technically she was right. But—

She undid her seatbelt and slipped awkwardly into his lap. With a few shifts, she nestled her business skirt-clad buttocks between his thighs. He appreciated the way her ass felt; Gods, she had a perfect ass too. Gods damn. He pulled the belt over the two of them and snapped it into place.

He reached down and pulled the latch again. His legs flexing. Suddenly jolting them forward. A little yelp of surprise escaped her lips. Still smirking, Vegeta strategically nestled his chin over her shoulder, beside her ear. He slipped his arms around her to take hold of the steering wheel again. Maneuvered his legs on either side of her own, bringing them in tight to hers, and placing the top half of his boots on the pedals.

He angled his lips closer to the shell of her ear, “Hold on.” His gravelly, velvety voice husked.

He felt a slight tremble tremor through her body. Saw in the rear-view mirror that she was biting her lower lip in a way that told him it wasn’t often that she did anything that made her unsure of herself. Devilishly, he bucked his hips into her tight ass a little. Prodding her in a way. He wasn’t hard, but there was still time.

“Grab the wheel.” He whispered. Letting his breathe ghost over her earlobe.

He was rewarded when she shuddered. And rewarded again when the shiver of her body caused her bottom to rub against his crotch. He felt himself respond to her like he hadn’t responded to a woman in years. He fought the groan that he’d suddenly caught in his throat. He looked down and watched her arms slowly reach out for the steering wheel. Her fingers wrapped around the wheel and he wondered what else they could wrap around. He blinked away the thought, thoughts he hadn’t had in years.

“Good girl,” he purred, continuing to keep up his act. Although it was quickly becoming less of an act.

“Woman.” Her voice was low and its own brand of husky.

“What?”

“I’m a woman.” She turned her head and their eyes met again.

_Gods damn, yes, you are._

“Good _Woman_.” He breathed.

She bit her lip again, turning to back to stare straight ahead.

Over her shoulder, Vegeta grinned. _Not_ lesbian. If you were into women, you didn’t look at him like that. Or bite your lip like that. Or shudder like that. So this _was_ her friend’s car. He didn’t know how she got a hold of this from her friend and he didn’t care, like he’d thought, this discussion hadn’t been a total loss. No loss at all. So far he’d earned fifty zeni. And by the end of the ride, he anticipated earning a whole lot more. After all, she already had a hotel room waiting for her. So what if maybe she had a guest with her?

With the brake still in place, Vegeta revved the engine. Feeling the sheer, unadulterated power of it vibrate all around them. A wild beast rearing to be set free, to be unleashed by the light of full moon in the night sky above. Who was he to deny a beast its prowl? All at once, he released the brake, turning the wheel. The Vantage screamed away from his street corner and went flying into the night. It’s might roaring off the facades of the buildings on either side of the street. Her screams of fear transforming into roars of laughter. Vegeta, for the first time in years, roared with laughter as well. This was going to be fun.


	4. Come Up and See Me

She felt the gusts trying desperately to yank chunks of her hair loose from the tight bun she had it in. It successfully whipped her bangs around her face. Covering her eyes momentarily and sending a thrill through her like she was on a rollercoaster blind. He turned the wheel expertly. Taking her along for the ride. Literally. She learned quickly to not even dare to fight his movements. Any resistance could throw off his aim and they might crash.

She suddenly jolted as he shifted gears. Her back bumping not for the first time into his chest. His whole body was thrumming, tense, tight. He was as intense as the vehicle itself. She could feel it in the powerful thighs clenching on either side of her hips. The quick, sure movements that were ever so subtle. Mere flicks of the wrists or elbows and the Aston Martin obeyed him like a thoroughly broke in stallion called to heel.

Suddenly he sent them into a spin.

Bulma hung onto the wheel for dear life. Screaming. She was screaming. The Vantage was screaming. As it flew in an elegant and perfect arc around the corner of the greenlit intersection.

It finally came to a stop. Right at the curb in front of the golden-framed doors of the Satan City Grand Hotel.

Bulma Briefs panted for air. And so did the man she was seated in the lap of. They’re bodies trembling with the aftereffects of the adrenaline continuing to pump through their veins. She glanced beside her. His eyes met hers and held her gaze. He was grinning as he panted. His face, naturally intense, now looking so devilish and… enticing. She’d noticed it before when his look was so attractively intense that she’d inadvertently bit her lip and she had to look away. It was one of the reasons she was looking at him again; Bulma Briefs didn’t back down from anything, not anymore.

His smile slid into a smirk, “We’re here.”

She laughed airly. She felt lightheaded as he reached down and unbuckled the seatbelt. She took that as her cue, she turned to the door and opened it.

Bulma climbed out first then turned and held the door open for him to exit, bringing the keys with him. He dangled them out to her as he straightened. She smiled at him. Finally taking the keys before gesturing for him to step aside and closed the door. She turned and he followed her around the front of the car, his eyes taking in one last long, analyzing gaze at the once in a lifetime opportunity he’d taken. It really was a beautiful, fantastic machine. Now that, that was what dreams were made of. Vegeta made a mental note to tease Raditz endlessly with his recounts of the thrilling ride tomorrow morning after he came home with the month’s rent and perhaps so money for more ramen. Even if this woman didn’t want him for a few hours, he was certainly in a better neighborhood, a more active one. More people meant more business opportunities; it also meant more chances that he might accidentally rung into the cops, but he was willing to take that chance. Frankly, the idea of being homeless again was making him desperate.

The jingling of metal on a small round clip brought his attention back to the woman just in time to see her toss them to a uniformed valet.

“Make sure you park it nice in the spot reserved for the penthouse suite.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The young valet nodded eagerly. His grin wide, his focus on the car.

Vegeta couldn’t begrudge him that.

Then she turned to him. It was only then that Vegeta had realized that they were up on the sidewalk now. While the valet was too distracted drooling over the car while getting inside it and driving off, the woman reached inside her suit jacket and withdrew her pocketbook. Vegeta fought the urge to frown, he’d been hoping… Well, like he told himself, it was a more active neighborhood. She opened it and he watched her red-painted fingernails partition off a single bill. She held it out to him. His fifty zeni.

“You were right,” she said, “I can afford to have a little fun.”

He took the money and nodded at her.

“Have a nice night,” he said, “Enjoy your stay at the Grand.”

Vegeta turned and began walking away. Bulma turned as well, heading for the twin doors of the entrance to her hotel… as soon as the toe of one red pumps landed on the red carpet leading to the doors, she stopped.

Paused.

Her heart was still racing. For the first time since coming to this city to carry out the biggest business deal of her life, she’d laughed. She’d smiled. Genuinely, not faking it just to placate some part of the machinations of working out this deal. For the first time since coming to Satan City, she’d had fun. She glanced over to her right. Watching the man responsible for that fun walk up to the intersection and push the button to signal that he wanted to cross the street. Her eyes traced down the short spikes of blonde hair, she really didn’t like that part, but… as her blue eyes traveled further down, his back… definitely his ass… legs. He was a living monument to the Greek Gods themselves. Statues had nothing on the incredible piece of art he was. Her eyes flitted down to the leather clutch still in her hand… then returned to his back. The corners of her mouth lifted.

Vegeta stood waiting for the light to change. Up the street, he saw another nightclub in full swing. He wouldn’t be able to get in like he did with Club Frieza, but he should have no problem picking up someone, anyone on the outside. He slipped the fifty into his pocket, hearing his stomach growl, begging him to spend just a little of it on something to eat, but he set the thought aside. Rent first, food later. He reminded himself yet again, a package of ramen at the bodega near his apartment was just a quarter right now. Four packs for a zeni. He could swing that. He just had to wait, work and wait.

“Ahem.”

He turned. She was there again. Waiting just behind him… with her pocketbook still out.

He didn’t hide how blatantly he eyed it before looking up to meeting her eyes. He didn’t hide the blatant smirk of victory that spread his lips.

“You’re _still_ right. I can afford to have a little _more_ fun. Care to join me up in my suite? If you’re not otherwise engaged.”

“Lead the way.”

Her grin was infectious. She turned on her red heels and led him back to the doors of the Satan City Grand Hotel.


	5. Strawberries and Champagne

“Wow.” Vegeta suddenly spoke up. He’d… he’d never been in a place as fancy as this one before. It was clear, he was out place and he was suddenly in a completely different league.

He looked up… and up… and up… and up. Shit, the lobby stretched up so many levels, he lost count of them. They all seemed to blur together. His eyes returned to the main level. Everything was white marble streaked with buttery cream and accented with gold and rich oak. The only other colors were the carpets that ran along the halls that heading in each of the cardinal directions with smaller rugs stationed in front of certain tall desks, they were the color of bright red. The pillars he recognized as Grecian, magnificently tall Ionic order columns capped with golden capitals and grounded with golden platforms. Drawing his eyes both up and down. He gazed down at the highly polished tiles beneath the velvety carpet underneath his feet. He half expected to see Caesar come out from behind one and give him a thumbs up, the old Roman signal for execution in the grand arena that was a coliseum. There was an echoing _clack_ drawing his attention to up to a pair of red heels. It had been her heels clacking on the spare space between a carpet runner and the rug in front of the concierge desk where a woman wearing a black suit with a crisp white shirt stood. She had a golden name tag, but he couldn’t see it. His eyes were straying again, looking around him… at the eyes that were looking him up and down. Not for the first time in his life, Vegeta felt…

He didn’t belong here.

“Please, have a magnum of champagne and a bowl of strawberries sent up to the penthouse.” The woman ordered.

“Yes, Miss. Immediately.”

“Good.”

She once again turned on her heels and headed for another hall. Vegeta followed her. And caught the look the concierge was giving him. His wonder turned to a scowl. He turned his head. Kept it straight ahead. On the woman’s back.

Anger started to burn in him. He didn’t know why… No, that wasn’t true, he knew exactly why. Just because he didn’t have conventional job or a conventional home or in any sense of the term led a conventional life, he wasn’t ‘less than’. And that’s what they were looking at him like, like he was less than them. Less than _all_ of them. Like some _thing_ as grubby as him was dirtying their precious lives. His gloves flexed around his knuckles as he clenched his fists by his sides. He hated being dismissed, but what he hated even more was being treated like he was… worthless.

Bulma stepped past the couple standing there and pressed the ‘up’ button anew to summon another elevator car. She stepped back and glanced beside her to see her ‘guest’. He was staring down the other couple. She followed the path of his gaze, but it wasn’t like she really had to. The other man was actually sneering at him in utter disgust. Bulma felt her eyes narrow dangerously at the man _and_ his wife that was eyeing Bulma like she was—

“Oh look, Honey,” her guest’s voice dripped with sarcasm as saccharine as the substance he’d just referred to her as. She looked over at him. She watched as he reached down, somehow managed to grab some of his tank although she couldn’t figure out how with how skintight the damn thing was on him, and pulled. _Slowly._ Bulma and the other woman’s mouths fell open as wine red cloth slipped and slithered upward and revealed luscious caramel abs finely cut and etched. “I seem to have spilt something on my shirt.”

Bulma’s eyes widened as she realized she was drooling.

“Whatever shall I do?” Her guest teased mercilessly. “Maybe…,” he purred, letting the word linger in the air sumptuously, “lick it off.”

_Ding._

The elevator doors opened and out stepped a small, uniformed, young man. He looked even more like a child when he took one look at them all. Bulma and the other woman were agape and the other man looked like he could absolutely kill as did Vegeta.

“Uh, um, going… up?” He asked timidly.

Vegeta let go of his tank, gave the other man on last glare, before entering the elevator.

“Oh, look, a bench,” he announced loudly.

Bulma and the couple neared the door, peering in at him. He turned back to face them and flopped back on the bench. He brought up on leg, bending it, and effectively looking as if he was taking up most of the space on it. He rested his elbow on his upraised knee. Suddenly he smirked.

“Looks like it’s meant for two.” His other hand, the one that had grabbed his shirt mere seconds ago, reached down and rested its grasp over his crotch. Giving himself a tight squeeze.

The other man’s jaw dropped. Their elevator boy’s eyes bugged.

Then Vegeta’s eyes met hers. Bulma glanced on either side of her… _Oh_.

She snapped her mouth shut, straightened up, and said, “It’s his first time in an elevator.”

Bulma quietly walked into the elevator, stepped up to the empty space of bench left, but didn’t sit down. She turned and faced the opened doors instead. She sought out their bellboy’s eyes and gave him a stern look and a curt nod. Just like she expected, he snapped out of it and snapped to it. He practically jumped back into the elevator car. He quickly turned his back on them.

“Which floor, Miss?”

“Penthouse.” Bulma answered.

“Yes, Miss.”

He reached over and pressed the uppermost button. The doors slid closed and the car began to ascend.

Vegeta didn’t even feel it begin to move it was so… what he expected of a ritzy place like this. Of course, not even the elevator’s squeaked unless they were supposed to and definitely no rough or bumpy trips up or down, that would be too unseemly for the clientele. He looked up at her profile. Clientele like her. The woman who wasn’t looking at him… his brows knit together, the woman who was _intentionally_ not looking at him.

_Oh shit_ , had he just screwed this up?

Quietly, Vegeta stood up. He tucked his tank top back in as best as he could. He glanced at her again.

He caught her watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“Sorry,” he said. Not a word familiar to him or his mouth, but he needed this money. Tonight. “I just can’t help myself.” He didn’t add that he couldn’t help himself when people looked at him that way.

“Well, try.” She said, finally looking at him. But the smirk on her own lips belied the seriousness of her tone.

He smirked back at her. She grinned mischievously then they both faced the doors. Waiting to reach the top.

* * *

The door made the softest click Vegeta had ever heard a hotel door make when it’s keycard was slipped into the slot and the lock released. The Woman pushed open the door and led the way inside. Vegeta’s eyes widened as he walked in and stopped short. He gaped as the door silently shut behind him. She so casually strode over to the desk, an actual great big oak desk! As ornately carved as anything downstairs, actually more elaborately carved. Most likely to show the prestige that was this place’s penthouse suite. It’s ultimate and grandest room.

All around him where creamy ivory colored walls, a bright red carpet that might have looked gawdy or out of place, but given the lobby was totally in keeping with the décor of the hotel itself. Greek or Roman opulence was definitely the theme; the people staying here weren’t expected to feel like kings or queens, but emperors and empresses. Not leaders of a realm, but rulers of the world. Which, Vegeta guessed, they technically were. The super wealthy always ruled all. And apparently for the moment, he was going to have a little taste of that ruling class; no longer Prince of Saiyan Boulevard, but Prince of the World, if only for an hour or two.

The room was huge. He looked off to his right, away from the desk/work area to the private bar. It was as big as his whole apartment. He gulped then caught her stepping the few steps down into the main area of the suite in the periphery of his vision. He followed her. The main area held a large couch, again overelaborate oak but rather than red, it was ivory velvet. Expertly tufted and luxuriously accented with ivory throw pillows that were tufted as well and trimmed with antique gold. Right across from him was a fireplace holding fake wood logs and framed in that ivory and cream marble, capped with that same lavishly carved oak, and trimmed in antique gold and on the wall above it was a large, flat screen television. A touch of modernity in the Grecian ambience. She turned right and reascended the three stairs, passing through an opening in the walls decorated with gold-framed works of art depicting images of warrior Rome or Greece or everyday lives of those same Ancient Romans or Greeks. Again, Vegeta followed her.

He fought for his eyes not to widen all over again as he took in the bedroom she had led him into. The focal point took up most of the area. The frankly _giant_ California King bed was four posts of extravagantly carved oak. The sheets were ivory as expected and most likely of the most lush and sultry Egyptian cotton he’d ever have the privilege to feel on his eventually bare skin. The comforter was bright red cotton of equal quality and tufted like the couch in the living area outside this room. The pillows were big and fluffy and he felt like his head might drown in the plush comfort of it. Off to the left was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows displaying the grandeur of the city that only those that had the money to look down on it got to see, the clean part, the ‘touristy’ part, _not_ the part of the city Vegeta was from and did business in. The curtains were antique gold and embroidered with damask, floral and scroll patterns of satin threads of the same color. The rods, again beautiful oak with ornate finials.

Vegeta turned his head further to the grand oak wardrobe meant to replace a closet sitting against the wall beside him and matched the nightstands on either side of the bed. He turned his head again, against the far right wall, opposite the windows was a grand chest of drawers for the clothes that required folding and next to that another opening in the wall. He could see half of the double vanity beyond and the mirror the width of the wall above it. Once more, oak and ivory and cream marble with antique gold, ornate fixtures. He had no doubt that what he couldn’t see was blocked by the outlines laid by glass walls, part of the massive shower that was undoubted lined on the other wall by Grecian or Roman designs of ivory and cream marble or stone tiles with antique gold fixtures. And undoubtedly an equally ornate bathtub in which a massive person could just fill up and soak themselves in like some Ancient Roman private bath. Yep, this place was by far the most elegant and expensive place he’d ever fucked in. Okay, he’d enjoy being in the luxury while it lasted… and knew he’d regret whatever his next client of the night would be, probably some cheap ass car that smelled of lemon air freshener trying desperately to cover up the pungent odor of cigarette smoke amidst a floor covered in wadded up fast food wrappers or empty paper coffee cups. The rest of his night was not going to be anything like this—

_Ding dong!_

He turned to look at the opening he’d just passed through as she casually took off her suit’s jacket and opened the wardrobe to withdraw the garment’s hanger.

“It’s the door. Would you get that?” She asked, hidden from his view by one of the wardrobe’s doors.

Vegeta’s mouth thinned into a line. He didn’t like being referred to like a servant, but he’d already nearly effed things with the elevator. He turned and headed back out into the living area; and he supposed that she had bought him… well, they hadn’t discussed that yet, but he was adding all this time to her bill at the end of this… and maybe pad it a little extra for making him act like some sort of butler right now. A butler that was going to fuck her in just a little bit.

He opened the door just as it’s bell rang again. The uniformed waiter smiled at him as he pushed in the golden tray cart laden with an overflowing ivory tablecloth and accented with an additional covering of bright red linen. Vegeta closed the door behind the man as the other seemed to know what he was doing and where he was going. He still followed the man though and watched him ease the cart to a stop next to the bar. He watched the man pull the golden lid off a massive bowl of big, deep red strawberries and shift to popping the cork on the bottle of champagne sitting in the golden urn of ice. He poured two crystal flutes of the pale golden bubbly before turning to Vegeta with a grin on his face.

And continued staring at Vegeta, grinning.

Staring. Grinning.

Staring. Grinning.

Vegeta scowled, “What the hell are you looking at?”

The Woman walked back into the room. Vegeta turned to her, “What the hell is he looking at?”

Calmly, she walked up the steps with her leather checkbook already in her hand. She opened it and pulled out a twenty zeni bill and handed it to the waiting man.

“Thank you for the service.” She dismissed.

The man bowed his head as he took the money and palmed the bill. He wished them a good night before letting himself out and quietly shutting the door behind him.

Vegeta felt his cheeks flush a little. A tip, the guy had been waiting for his tip. _Shit_. Every time he turned so far in this place he was fucking things up; it was like everything about this place was making it abundantly clear how out of place he was here, how much he didn’t belong here. The sooner he got this over with, the better. He’d get his zeni for getting her off and get the hell out of here and back to more familiar and more comfortable territory for him, the street corner.

The Woman turned to him, he caught the smile on her face. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said as she handed him a crystal flute.

He frowned at it as he took it. She turned away from him. With her back turned, he began to down the booze. She turned back to him, her smile faltering for a moment. He caught it, but didn’t let it stop him from finishing off his drink. It was good. _Really fucking good_ , but he was over this now. He just wanted to discuss the terms of the next hour, he wasn’t even going to think about a second hour in this high-class hellhole, strip down, fuck this Woman, and get the hell back on the streets. When he lowered his champagnes glass, she held up the bowl of strawberries to him, offering again and smiling at him again.

He stared at her.

She proffered the bowl again. Nodding, still smiling.

He continued to stare.

“What?” His voice edged dangerously close to snapping at her. He was getting frustrated with this whole scenario, but he still wasn’t stupid enough to screw himself over. Yet.

“The strawberries make the champagne taste better.”

“Better?... Really?”

She nodded.

He sighed. “Look, this is… really… yeah, and all, but I’m… you don’t have to this with me or anything. I’m a done deal here. Just pay me, we can do what I’m here to do, then I can leave and you don’t have to—”

“How much for the whole night?”

He stared. Stunned. _Wait, did I… did I just hear her right? The_ whole _night?_

She met his gaze. Crossed her arms over her ample chest. Chin up. Defiant and confident.

He glanced around the room. His eyes returned to her.

“What?”

“I’m sensing this money thing means a lot to you. So how much for the _whole_ night?”

Oh, he got it now. They were both in their element now. The art of the business deal.

Vegeta crossed his arms over his chest. Squaring up against her. While her smile had dimmed to that which could flicker to something far more sinister and dangerous in the face of someone getting the shaft on the other end of whatever business deals she negotiated, _he_ smirked, his own way of knowing he was going to get exactly what he wanted at the end of this discussion.

“You couldn’t afford it.” He challenged her.

“Try me.” She countered with barely a gap of time between them.

Vegeta knew she could. He’d gotten a glance in that pocketbook of hers when she’d opened it to fish out the twenty. _But_ he hadn’t gotten a look at what all was in there.

“Five hundred zeni.” That would cover rent for the month. Whatever Raditz would earn from the night, and he had better be fucking _earning_ , would go to feed them. Perfect. If Raditz held up his part of trying to earn his half of the rent without knowing that Vegeta had just negotiated, granted it hadn’t been accepted yet—

“Deal.” She snapped.

Vegeta fought his eyes bugging out of his skull or letting out a whoop of victory or barking with laughter. Okay, so yeah, he’d just negotiated getting their rent for the month in one night of work.

“Do you want it now or in the morning?”

“Morning’s fine.”

Afterall, if anything else got tagged onto it, he could renegotiate to account for any ‘additional charges’.

“Good, then make yourself at home.” She offered him the bowl of strawberries again, he took one. When she turned to put the bowl back down on the cart, she turned back to him with the bottle of champagne. He held up his flute to her and she refilled it before putting the bottle back on ice and taking up a strawberry for herself along with the other flute. She took a bite of berry and a sip of champagne as she made her way past him and back over to her desk, she set down her glass and began to peruse the papers piled on top of it.

Vegeta watched her for a moment before devouring the berry in one massive bite and began chewing as he took another sip of champagne then he turned to look out over the living area once again. His new domain for the night. Well, he smirked as he eyed the big ass television, she did say to make himself at home.

Her eyes strayed not for the first time to the image of the nearly fifty-year-old martial arts movie… and her eyes strayed yet again to the man lying on the carpeted floor in front of the tv… and his rather tempting, juicy behind. Seriously, that was criminal. It was like the most perfect peach in the world. Despite herself, she licked her lips and was only distracted when his buttocks shook when he laughed; he barked out a condemnation of one of the veiled ninjas fighting abilities against the bare-faced and bare-chested protagonist and she finally noticed the barking in her ear over the phone.

Bulma shook her head and turned slightly away from the view of her guest to the view of the city from the substantial balcony that wrapped around the exterior half of her suite… she turned away from that view as well, finally turning to face wall behind her desk.

“Yes, yes, Launch, whatever.” She glossed over not paying a single word of attention to one of her attorneys, well, friends. “When is the meeting scheduled for tomorrow?”

_“Ten a.m.”_

Bulma nodded, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

_“Wait, wait, wait, how’s my car?”_

Bulma rolled her eyes but with a smile on her face, “It’s fine. Have Adrian drive you here in the morning with the limo and we’ll trade in the parking area. You’ll go to work in that and I’ll have my limo and driver back.”

_“You’re sure it’s fine? Like there’s nothing wrong with it?”_

“I promise you it’s fine. It flies in the right hands.” Despite herself again, she turned around to look at her guest that she’d picked up in that vehicle. She watched his head tilt back as he polished off another glass of champagne, the second large bowl of delicious strawberries gone. He laughed again. Her eyes were riveted to a certain part of his anatomy. _Speaking of which…_ she bit her lower lip again. “Launch, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Her friend was sputtering something, but Bulma was already lowering the phone. She hung up. She leaned over and turned the lamp off on her desk. Now all that lit the room were the main lights and the glow of the television playing the old martial arts movie. Casually Bulma slipped off her shoes by her desk and silently stepped down into the main living area. She walked over to the couch and sat down, her eyes on her guest the entire time.

Rather than choosing the side farthest from him, she chose to sit down on the end nearest the television. And right beside his head, if he cared to turn his head and look over at her.

She sat back contentedly. Watching his profile. It was strong and finely etched like the rest of his body if the tightness of his clothes were any indication as well as his exposed arms. When he smirked… oooh, she felt herself melt. She smiled at the memory of his smirk when they’d negotiated their deal for the night. And Bulma had opted for the whole night. She wasn’t exactly someone who shared and she… she didn’t relish the idea of him standing out there on the street corner waiting for the next driver to come along. What if that person wasn’t nice? What if he was forced to do something that he didn’t want to? Did he even want to do any of this?

The ninja made a poor swing for a chop at the neck, Vegeta let out another peel of laughter as the man’s strike was easily dodged and even more easily countered with a solid kick to the stomach, sending the man reeling backward. His stagger was so exaggeratedly cheesy especially when he went through a wooden wall and it splintered melodramatically. Vegeta shook with laughter, shaking his head. Suddenly he caught teal out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head, his laughing dying away.

_She_ was there, sitting on the couch. She must have been watching him, but… the look on her face… _why is she frowning?_ She wasn’t looking at him, but… still. Vegeta glanced over at the movie to see one of his all time favorite martial arts heroes square up against a trio of masked ninja then his eyes quickly returned to her. She was thinking about something. Something that was souring her mood maybe. Vegeta reached down and muted the movie.

Abruptly her blue eyes snapped up to meet his black eyes. He stayed there lying on the floor for a moment. Just watching each other. Then he pushed himself up on all fours and turned towards her. He froze, seeing her brows furrow and that same troubled expression darken her face again.

“What is it?” He asked, hoping she wasn’t getting cold feet now. He really, _really_ needed this money. Otherwise he’d just blown nearly an hour of time that he wouldn’t be able to get back and would make his night that much tougher—

“Don’t crawl like that. You’re not an animal, you’re a person.” She answered.

Oh, so that was it. She was thinking about saving him, rescuing him from this life. He smirked at her and saw that troubled expression lessen. Vegeta Prince didn’t need anyone to save him from anything.

In spite of her words, he crawled slowly over to her. Prowling the path between the two of them. Letting each movement shift muscle groups languidly like a big cat sauntering over to pray. Not quite pouncing, not quite needing to to claim its prize.

She fought to remain still. He explicitly disobeyed her. No one had ever done that before. He was still on all fours, crawling to her. It was… Kami damn it, he was smirking the entire—she nearly gulped. Nearly jumped out of her skin. He was right there at her knees. One hand reached up from the floor to rest on the couch edge right next to her knee. Then the other hand came up to rest right beside her other knee. He reared up. Straightening. His eyes never leaving hers for a second. She breathed shallowly. Slowly he removed his hands from either side of her and went to his bolero vest. He took hold of it and slowly rolled his shoulders as he slipped it from his shoulders. Her pulse quickened. Her own private stripe show. He let it fall on the floor behind him. Dropping from his arms with a soft _thump_.

When his hands went to his stomach, she audibly gasped. His smirk darkened, deepened. Reflexively, he clutched the wine fabric in his hands. He pulled. The wine-colored fabric slithering free of his waistband as easily as a snake moving across the dunes of a desert sea. Revealing Adonis abs sculpted by Kami himself in the most luscious shade of sun-bronzed caramel she’d ever seen in her life. Her teeth’s hold on her lower lip loosened. Her lip popped free.

Holy shit was that sexy, Vegeta licked his lips at the sight of her semi-swollen lip. He crossed his arms over his chest and pulled his tank up and over his head, careful of his blonde wig of short spikey hair. It was important to him to maintain the image he’d carefully crafted over the years of what the clientele liked to partake of. He wasn’t about to suddenly lose that now, not when his rent was on the line and she was already a bit on the anxious side. He lowered his arms and dropped his shirt on the floor beside him.

Bulma watched the slinky fabric fall. Finding it harder to keep her breathing under control. Then his hands landed on her knees. Her eyes snapped up to meet his. She lost herself in them for a moment. Their dark depths were so intense. More than even in her own. Suddenly she felt her knees slowly shifting apart. _Oh Kami_ … she breathed.

He slipped in between her knees. Pressed his lower body against the front of the couch. He loomed over her.

Then he leaned forward.

Her knees squeezing against his hips tighter and tighter as every inch of his warm body seared its way onto her own as he slowly laid himself down on top of her.

Despite herself, she let out a whimper. A needy sound for the man between her legs. She felt her core clench. Knew she was wet for him already. His ripped stomach laid over hers, he leaned back a little. He paused. She suddenly realized that she was panting. Her lips were closed, but she was panting. And worst yet, since he was laying on her, he _knew_ she was panting too. He knew already how her body was reacting to him. Kami damn—her eyes shot wide open.

His hands caress up her from her knees… his fingertips brushing as light as a breeze up her bare thighs until the fabric of her slightly raised skirt stole his featherlight touch from her skin. She nearly cursed her own clothes for that. But his touch firmed on her body to compensate for lack of skin-to-skin contact. His fingers traced their individual paths up over her hips… Suddenly he grabbed her hips and pulled. Her legs spread wider to compensate for his immovable wall of muscle. Skirt hiked higher. And her core hit his bulge. She gasped, moaned hedonistically. He was erect. Full. Stiff. Big. She felt her core flutter and clench again. Knew she was impossibly wet.

They were face to face now. Noses an inch apart.

All she could see were his eyes. His face. Minutes in and she was already a lost cause. Five hundred zeni, she’d pay a lot more than that for this. _Any_ of this.

Her shoulders flexed beneath her hands. When had she reached up and latched onto his shoulders? When he pulled her down the couch to him? She felt his hands on her chest. Her back arched. Lifting her chest to meet his hands. Her eyes became half-lidded, rheumy with lust as she felt his manhood twitch against her core at her gesture. Suddenly she realized that he was panting too. His lips were closed as well, but he was still panting.

She felt him cup her breasts a little as his hands shifted over her ample chest so his fingers could find the first of her blouses’ buttons. He undid the first one, focused on it. While her eyes stayed on his own. He careful undid another button. Then another before his eyes could return to hers.

“What do you want?” His voice was low and husky. Betraying his own body’s want and desires through velvet-covered gravel. And, she dared, she detected a little hope in his tone.

“What do you do?” She husked back. Hiking her knees just a little bit higher up his hips to add to their new negotiation. She wasn’t above playing dirty. Very. Very. Dirty.

His cock twitched hard. Unmistakably. This time it was her turn to smirk and his brows to furrow.

“Everything,” he growled and it made her damn well soaked, “Except…,” her breath caught in her throat, “I don’t kiss on the mouth.”

“Neither do I,” she whispered, relieved.

“Good,” he purred then he tilted his head, leaned in just a little closer, and lowered.

His lips were scalding hot on her newly exposed collarbone. She looked to the heavens and moaned as if she were soaking in a hot tub after a long days’ stressful work rather than about to be soaking in a strange man’s cum. She didn’t care. This felt… she needed a night like this.

Her hold on his shoulders tightened as his lips lifted from her skin and traveled further down her body. She felt his hot breath on the top of one of her breasts before she felt his lips meet her pillowy soft flesh and pucker it. Sucking some of her skin in between his gently puckered lips. She closed her eyes and sighed her moan. Bathing in his heat and the heat he was building in her. The he kissed where her nipple perked inside the confines of her white, cotton bra. He kissed over the padded fabric. His hot breath turning the bra cup into an inferno. Then he kissed the span of fabric between her breasts. Then the top of her stomach. His hands pulled her shirt fully apart. His palms finding her sides and slipping back down over her hips, playing catchup to his lips.

His hands moved faster than his mouth. They found the bottom hem of her skirt and pushed it up higher. Her stomach fluttered as her core tightened and her knees rose higher up over his hips. His pants-covered cock pulled away from her as he shifted the rest of his body away from her.

She opened her eyes and looked down her body at him.

With her skirt now pushed up around her waist, his fingers shifted attention to her black lace thong. He took the flimsy straps between his fingertips and pulled. His lips left her, he lifted up from her just enough to slip the thin strands easily from her hips. She lifted her hips so he could pull her panties free of her ass. The deep bass growl that left him when he took a deep inhale of the raised dish she was offering him again rattled her entire body. She lowered her hips, taking away his offering, and she saw the nearly feral glare he gave her teal-haired pussy. He pulled her underwear over her legs, over her knees, and down. She felt the straps slip free of her feet and in the next instant his shoulders were pressed against her inner thighs. She mewled pitifully as his breath branded her pussy with its fire. Her nails pushed into his skin as his hands pushed on her inner thighs, spreading her wider for him. Pulling her folds apart. Revealing him the glistening oasis of her womanhood. And the engorged pearl hidden inside.

He licked his lips staring at it. She trembled. His mouth descended. She flung her head back into the cushions. Crying out as his tongue lathed her. His tip tasting from the bottom to her engorged top. Her nails bit into his flesh. He licked her pussy again. Then again. This time his tongue swirling around her swollen clit. Her knees jumped. Quickly he flung her legs over his shoulders. Forcing her hands to grip the cushions as he licked her pussy again. His tongue finishing with another swirling tour of her clitoris before his lips closed over it and he suckled her clit.

“ _Fuck!_ ” She screamed. Back arching violently. Eyes squeezed tight.

He held her hips. Mouth not letting her clit go. She writhed. When she felt like she couldn’t take it anymore, when her cries bordered on sobs, his mouth released her clit. His tongue lapping up the juices he’d gotten her to make. Her hands flew to his golden hair. It was coarse and harsh feeling against her fingertips, she hated it, but she didn’t let it stop her from clutching his head. Her hips working with the flicking and licking of his tongue as she ground his face into her core. His tongue pierced her.

“ _Hnngh!!_ ” She cried out.

He devoured her. Inside and out. His tongue diving into her and curling. His tip just barely touching the outskirts of the wonderful spot inside her. Once. Twice. Over and over. Trying to get at her. Before retreating and savoring her pearl again. He sucked again and her body finally broke. 

Her back snapped her back fiercely. Her legs shook and trembled on either side of his head.

“ _HAA!!_ ” She wailed. Cumming.

He suckled her into weakness. Her body easing into twitches. Before his mouth released her clit and his tongue went to work lapping up it’s freshly leaked meal. Sticky and sweet and delicious. She sobbed as his tongue penetrated her again and licked her clean. Taking his fill of her pussy in every way that he could. Except…

He straightened up, her legs falling from his shoulders. Her eyes partially opened. He was licking his mouth clean like a big cat after a kill. He’d laid her to waste.

Then her eyes widened as he slipped his gloves off and tossed them to the floor. He stood up and began unbuckling his belt.

More?! There was more?! She should have known. She had bought him for the whole night. So far all he’d done was made her cum on the couch with his tongue. She sat up on her elbows as he bent over and pulled off one boot then the other, discarding both.

Their eyes met again as he unbuttoned his tight pants, took the zipper pull between his fingers, and dragged it slowly down over his erect bulge. Pulling his fly open, revealing the black underwear underneath. He took his waistband in hand and rolled it down his body. She gulped, he was wearing a black thong too. Kami help her! He abandoned his skintight pants as a pool around his ankles. He straightened up again. Somehow with a handful of gold foil squares in his hand. Condoms. More than one. Her eyes went from his hand to his eyes as he carefully stepped out of his pants. Leaving them on the floor. He stepped into the space between her legs his upper body had previously occupied.

All of a sudden he bent down, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted. Instinctively Bulma wrapped her legs around his waist, his clothed erection once again pressing against her wet core; her arms around his shoulders. He cupped her bare ass with both hands. She felt the cold, sharp edges of the gold foil-wrapped condoms prickling her buttocks. It sent chills up her spine. He turned with her in his arms and carried her off into the bedroom.

As soon as they crossed the opened threshold, his face buried itself in her neck. This close, she could smell her cum on his face as his mouth and tongue kissed her neck. She held him close, gasping for air as he licked and kissed up and down her pulse. Driving it and her wild.

Before she knew it, he was tilting her over. Her back hit plush comfort. It was like a starter’s pistol firing. Their hands worked furiously to undo her pushed up skirt. As he yanked it from her hips and off her body, she shimmied out of her opened blouse. She tossed it away as he flung her skirt somewhere. She arched her back again, reaching underneath, and beginning to undo bra. The hooks gave easily and she sat up and flung the white garment away. Just in time to meet his eyes. He’d been watching her. Waiting. He hooked his thumbs over the straps of his thong and pulled down. She watched what he wanted her to. Watched the satin patch slip down his from perfect ‘V’. Watched the waistband pull his bulbous tip and erection down… down… down… until his manhood finally popped free of the black satin. Her cheeks flushed as his cock bobbed up and down for a moment before settling, straight and strong and thick. Suddenly she wanted to touch herself. But even more, she wanted him to touch her. Wanted his cock inside her. He bent over, slipped his thong free of his calves, and let it drop to the floor. He stepped out of it as he turned to the nightstand and tossed all save for one of his handful of condoms onto it. Then he turned back to her and the bed. He tore open the foil as he walked up to the edge of the bed. He smirked as her eyes watched with rapt attention as he withdrew the flesh toned, latex ring from inside and discarded the wrapper. Vegeta pulled a reservoir tip for himself then pressed the ring to his tip and gently stroked it down his shaft. He was gratified to hear the soft mewl that came from her.

He lifted one knee up onto the bed then the other, crawling up. In the middle of the bed, nearly between her knees as before, Vegeta sat back on his heels and reached out to her.

Her eyes looked from him to his proffered hand then back to him. Cautiously, she placed her hand in his. He pulled her up onto her knees. And then onto his lap. Her slick folds parting around his sheathed shaft.

With one hand braced at the small of her back, his free hand reached up behind her and plucked the first of a handful of hairpins free from her tight bun of hair. He flung the pin away. His fingers reached up again and pulled another pin free and tossed it away. Then another and another. With each pin, she became more comfortable. Her body relaxing. Good, he needed her relaxed; although he could tell she was still holding her breath.

Finally he took her bun in his hand and gently pulled it free, releasing it to it’s ponytail form. Then he reached up again, took hold of the hairband, and pulled it from her tail. He cast it aside and nearly stopped breathing. Her hair hung in a softly curling curtain of teal behind her. Her bangs curling gently around her face. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. He drew her closer to him. The slip of her wet clit over his covered shaft scintillating both of them. He chest tightened, his breathing picking up as her own breathing became ragged and her cheeks flushed.

She cupped his cheeks and he thought of reminding her about his rule of no kissing on the mouth when he felt her sit up on her knees on either side of his thighs. Lifting herself off his shaft.

_Good Woman_ , he purred to himself as he reached down between them and took hold of himself. He angled his tip up. She moaned, but her eyes never left him. He watched the way her throat flexed as she swallowed hard. The way her collarbone lifted and fell with the heaving of her chest. How that same heaving needless propped up her full bosom like bulbous bowls of porcelain-hued cream with nips of her own bright reddish pink ‘strawberries’ begged him to sample to see if those strawberries made her cum taste as sweet as that fine champagne.

His eyes rose to meet her sapphire blue ones. He wanted to taste.

With easy movements, he rubbed his reservoired tip along her parted slit. Wetting his latex with her fresh juices. His breathing picked up, shallowed. He ached to sample her. When her mouth fell open with pants, he stopped his movements and pressed his tip to her entrance. She moaned and pulled him closer. His hand on her lower back drew her nearer and in tandem with his hand holding his cock, he breached her. She gasped. Head tilting forward a little. Some of her hair falling over her shoulders. With his tip inside her wet warmth, he released his shaft and held onto her hip. He pulled her slowly down on his cock. She moaned the entire way. He felt her nails starting to dig into him and it sent chills up his spine. His cock twitched inside her and her head fell back, mouth hanging open, eyes shut, and letting out the most divine moan he’d ever heard a woman produce for him.

He was inside her. She was tight, but not uncomfortable. It was clear that she hadn’t been laid that often and definitely not that recently. She was like some sort of prize, like a fairytale. A rarity.

Vegeta bowed his head to her breasts and kissed them again. His tongue licking the warm pillowy flesh. Lapping at the cream. She leaned back more. Her pussy tightening around his cock inside her. His mouth traveled further then his lips parted and his tongue slipped out. The tip of his tongue licking at her pert strawberry nib.

Her core clenched him. He groaned and licked again. She cried out again. His tongue curled swirled around her strawberry before drawing it into his mouth. He suckled her.

“ _Oh Kami_ ,” she whimpered, her body curling in on him. Her hands clutching his head to her breast. Her cheek pressed to the top of his head. He could feel her breaths puff over his forehead and down his face. Her breath smelled sweet.

He rolled his head over her nipple. Kissing it, suckling it, lovingly as his hips rose. Lifting them. His first thrust. Pushing himself into her to his hilt. She moaned above him again. He lowered his hips then lifted them again. Then lowered again. Then lifted. His thrusts were slow. But he picked up his pace as his mouth broke free of her strawberry. He shifted his face to look up into her heavily lidded eyes. She tasted delicious. Their mouths hanging open as he thrusted. The bed’s springs starting to quietly sound. He picked up his pace and held her hips down on his lap so he penetrated her deeper. Felt like he was fucking her harder.

She hissed, “ _Oh Kami, yesssss_ ,” she bit her lower lip again and he lost control.

The bed bounced with his hard, fast thrusts. Their eyes never broke contact and she moaned to his face. Cried out to his face.

“ _Oh fuck me… oh yes, fuck me… Deeper. Oh fuck, harder! Yes! Yes! Oh Kami! Ha! Ha! Ha!_ ”

It was music to his ears. The greatest symphony to ever be heard on the planet. And he was the conductor. She his instrument. And he was playing her to their mutual delight. It was a rare treat that he got to have a client in which he could indulge as much as they were. She was slim, trim, and built like a wet dream. He had no problem getting a hardon for her. No problem spending the entire night with this bed as their world. He would rock it. Have her mewling. Fuck her with total abandon for as long as they both could last.

“ _Oh Kami! Oh Kami!_ ” She squeaked as he felt her pussy clenching him unbearably tight. Shit any tighter and he was going to cum too. Good.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” she gasped and clung to him as her walls fluttered around his cock deep inside her.

He gritted his teeth, “ _Fuck_.” He came. His cock twitching in it’s sheath, in her warmth. He felt each spurt of cum fill his condom with every twitch. Hot. Sticky. There was a part of him that wanted to break his second rule, the one about always use a condom. He wanted her raw for a moment just to feel what it would be like to feel her sweet cunt milk him dry and his hot cum to squirt against her fluttering walls. Nice and deep. But that would be absolute lunacy. He knew to use condoms and he knew to use them properly.

She weakened in his arms and he let her slump back on the bed. They were breathless, something he hadn’t experienced in… well, he couldn’t remember being breathless from sex before. He’d never actually wanted to cum before and thrown himself into getting her to cum too. Sure, he’d cum before with a client; it was a biological reaction really, but this was different. He’d wanted her to cum more than just as the end to a session with a client, but he actually had wanted her to cum because he was with her. And _he’d_ wanted to cum with her. And she’d drawn his orgasm out of him with her own.

It was great. Being with a client should always feel like this.

But he knew that wasn’t true. _This_ wasn’t true. He was in the presence of something mythical, like a dragon capable of granting wishes.

He eased himself out of her. His reservoir filled and then some. It’d been awhile since he came while with a client. His tip landed on the bedtop gently, but he still winced, he was still sensitive even through the latex and cum, and there was no mistaking her groan of discontent.

He looked up at her. Her eyes were opened as much as his were. Sprawled out before him, he wanted her again. She’d been heavenly… His eyes widened as he watched her slowly bite her lower lip again. It was like her signal to him. She wanted more.

So did he. For once.

“Whole night,” she whispered.

He smirked and she shuddered visibly. Gods, he wanted her to tremble underneath him, screaming to the heavens, and cumming all over his stiff cock plunged to his hilt deep inside her.

Gods, he wanted to cum with her again.

He quickly snapped off the used condom and turned and dropped it on the floor next to its torn wrapper as he took up another one. He threw its torn wrapper on the floor as well, pulled another reservoir for his next load of cum to fill, and rolled the condom on over his already hardening cock.

Her giggle called to him. He smiled as he leaned over her, crawling up her lithe, little body. She grinned at him, her face blossoming surrounded by the teal ocean of her lightly curly hair. Stunning. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers threading through the hairs of his wig, he hated that she wasn’t running her fingers through his real hair. He buried his face in her neck again, nipping at her skin. She giggled in his ear, squirming playfully beneath him. One thrust of his hips and he was in her to his hilt.

“ _Ha-nngh_ ,” she called out to the ceiling. Her back lifting from the bed again. He slipped his hands underneath her back. Holding her in place as he abandoned her neck and feasted on her other strawberry. Thrusting fast and hard into her with reckless abandon.


	6. Discovery

The water poured from the rainfall showerhead hot, but nowhere near as hot as his body had felt against hers. They’d gone through the handful of condoms. They’d exhausted themselves, but they’d done it. She grinned as the water rained down on her. Remembering what had happened maybe half an hour ago. She ran her fingers through her hair and remembered the way his fingers had run through her hair. Her fingertips trying desperately to recreate the feel of his fingertips caressing her scalp as he’d fucked her perfectly. Hard, fast, filling her with a cock that was out of this world just like his bod and his panty-soaking smirk. She bit her lower lip again. Wanting to touch herself to recreate the feel of his tongue. Yet another magically gifted appendage of his. But she refrained. Frankly, her own fingers on her scalp were no competition to his touch and she didn’t want to disappoint her body by giving herself such a lackluster feeling down there. She just closed her eyes and flung her head back. Felt the warm ‘rain’ water on her wash down on her face and relived the sensations of his manhood driving her to orgasm after orgasm.

She trembled again, felt herself getting moist again from something other than her shower, and lowered her head again before gasping. She giggled. The rushing of the shower water drowning out the sound of her laughter.

Bulma hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. And she’d never had this many orgasms before! Ever! Kami, he was underselling himself. Honestly, she hadn’t had even _one_ orgasm in a long time. Yamcha, lately, had become very good about pleasing himself rather than her and eventually, yeah, eventually she’d just stopped sleeping with him. She didn’t bother to go through the bullshit or drama of feigning a headache. Instead she’d been honest with him and simply told him that she didn’t want to have sex with him whenever he’d asked. Even then, he eventually stopped asking and they went to bed… Bulma shut off the water.

She swept a hand back over her hair as she opened the glass door, stepped out, and took up a fluffy, white bathrobe. She slipped it on, tied it closed, and took up a spare towel and began drying her hair.

Yamcha was over now. It was just… she hadn’t realized how _long_ it had been really over till now. Really, for a long time, he’d been just a figure head. A token on her arm at various events or business related things. It wasn’t that she’d taken him for granted. It was that she’d hadn’t even cared anymore to include him in any meaningful way in her life anymore to even consider taking him for granted. She ran her towel over the tips of her hair as she left the bathroom. Honestly, Yamcha was just sort of, well, _there_ … Bulma padded to a stop. Her brows furrowed for a moment. _What the hell is tha…_ She didn’t finish her thought as it suddenly dawned on her what the yellow hairy pile of whatever was standing out on the bright red floor by her bed.

Her towel slowly lowered from her hair as she looked over at who she had left on the bed after multiple orgasms and multiple hours of the best sex of her life.

He laid there on his stomach. All she’d remembered was her rolling out from under him, his bicep in her vision, as she’d made her sleepless way over to the bathroom. She rarely slept, but apparently the exhaustion had lulled him off to sleep.

Bulma walked up to the bed, looking upon the caramel Adonis that she’d picked up on the street. He’d slipped under the covers of the bed, holding a fluffy pillow to his head. He was so at ease. So restful. She was envious of that. She rarely slept because of… reasons. His features were so… he didn’t look so grumpy, so intimidating in his sleep. All of whatever stress he had had slipped away. He looked even more handsome than when he’d leaned over and talked to her through the passenger’s side window.

Slowly her eyes rose up and took in his black hair. As black as his intense eyes. She smiled to herself, his hair rose in these natural spikes up into a sweeping flame. So unique. Why hide that? It was so… him.

Bulma reached out. Her fingertips brushed the widow’s peak he’d kept hidden underneath the Kami awful, blonde wig. She slowly, gently ran her fingers up. His hair was soft, much softer than she’d been expecting. It reminded her of when she’d went to the zoo once as a child and had the privilege to see and touch one of the apes in a paid for private sort of meet and greet. His hair, like the ape’s, felt strong and soft, an enigma she found both confusing and comforting.

She smiled at him as he continued sleeping soundly… then turned and walked over to the chest of drawers. She carefully opened one to be as soundless as possible and withdrew a bubblegum pink nightgown. Short, made out of fine silk, and with spaghetti straps. She dropped her hair towel on the ground, disrobed, and slipped on the nightie. The silk feeling as good on her skin as his skin did. She grinned to herself again.

Bulma bent over and picked up her robe and towel and carried them back into the bathroom. She dumped them in the laundry bin next to the bathroom garbage can that she’d used to dispose of the used condoms and their wrappers. Again realizing that she hadn’t looked over at him in the bed then either… she blushed violently suddenly, she’d been too interested in looking down into the pail at the condoms and seeing how much he’d cum with her to even realize that she’d walked past his damn wig. Bulma tore her eyes from the garbage can again to pick up her hairbrush. She left the bathroom, quietly flipping the light switch on her way out so as not to wake her nightlong guest.

Bulma took one more long look at him before she walked out of the bedroom. She made her way over to her desk and sat down at it. She arranged the pile of papers into meticulous order before she began reading the top page as she brushed her long hair.


	7. The Morning After

The sun was warm on his bare back. He stretched and groaned in pleasure, feeling soft linens all around him. On top of him from his backside down, underneath his body; soft fluffiness propping up and cradling his head…

_Wait_ …

One opened up, its onyx-colored iris looking out past a nightstand he didn’t recognize to an elaborate and massive chest of drawers he didn’t recognize either. There was a split-second of alarm followed by panic ripping through his body. He bolted upright. Turning and spinning as he sat up. He quickly ascertained his surroundings. Heart pounding wildly in his ears, temporarily blocking out all sound. This room… this bedroom… it was so gorgeous, so expensive, so elegant, so… he glanced over to his right at the nightstand beside his bed, catching a small, flimsy piece of gold foil that lay there. Clean cut at two edges of its triangular shape and one broad edge that was marred by foil torn free from an obviously larger piece. It all came back to him staring at a rogue piece of one of his condom wrappers. He relaxed.

Breathing out a big sigh of relief and dispelling the remnants of sleep that clung at the outer reaches of his mind and his muscles. He ran a hand up over his face and into his hair, threading his fingers through his stark widow’s peak and into his spikes of hair and up into his unusual, ebony flame. Suddenly he froze. His hair… His hair… Vegeta’s eyes widened, _Holy shit! My hair!_

Abruptly he yanked his hand from his head. Gripping the bedsheets covering the lower half of his body. His eyes darted around the room. His head snapping from side to side. Nothing. Still nothing. Nope, not over there.

He lunged from one side of the bed to the other—There! Leaning over the left side of the bed, he finally saw his wig on the floor looking like some horribly mangled, golden thing. It must have come off last night. His mind vaguely registered just how much she’d either ran her hands through his wig last night or just flat out gripped chunks of it thinking it was his own natural hair. He also vaguely recalled fucking her so raucously that when she was gripping a chunk of his hair, her hand quickly wrenched away from his head to grab a chunk of the bed linens while screaming all sorts of vulgar things. Apparently when her hand left his head, it took his wig with it, flinging it on the floor over the side of the bed as he had her cumming hard. Was that the third condom they’d went through or the fourth? Either way, it hadn’t been the last condom that he’d had so it must not have bothered her too much that she began her night fucking a blonde-haired man and ended it fucking a black-haired man.

He smirked as he leaned back onto the bed itself. Last night had been fun. Honestly, he couldn’t remember having that much fun with a customer before. His mind lingered on the feel of her… the way she reacted to what he did to her… how vulgar her mouth was, his smirked deepened. She was a very, _very_ vulgar woman. He liked that.

But. His smirk ebbed and his eyes drifted over to the bank of windows that made up the far-right wall. It was daylight. Their night was over.

He sighed again, time to get paid.

He flung off the sheets and slipped out of bed. He put his feet on the carpeted floor, taking just a few moments to flex his toes in the plush, bright red fibers, before standing up and stretching out his impressive body. Muscles stretched, joints popped with release. Wow, what a relief part of a night’s sleep in a good bed meant. He was feeling great. Vegeta surveyed this side of the floor, finding it bear. He walked around to the other side of the bed and found his clothes in piles. Except for his boots, those should be in the living area.

Voices, he looked up from his pants to the opening that led back into the main part of the hotel suite. She was talking… with a man. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but they weren’t mad at each other.

_Hmm_ , his eyes trailed to the bathroom’s opening.

Bulma finally sat down at the dining table, the six-person seater hidden from view upon entering because it was on the other side of the desk in another sunken down part of the room nearest the windows leading out to the balcony lining a large portion of the exterior of the penthouse suite. She took up the newspaper and began opening it to the business section as the server went about opening the multiple sets of French doors of the balcony. The morning breeze was light and refreshing with just a hint of warmth. Bulma shook out her paper from where the breeze had ruffled it. The gentleman returned to her side.

“Anything else, Miss?”

“No, that is all. Thank you.” She singlehandedly took up the folded twenty zeni bill she’d laid on the table beside her plate for when she was ready to dismiss him and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Miss,” he took it with a smile and a bow, “Have a nice day.”

She nodded without looking at him, her eyes focused on the paper spread between her hands. It wasn’t until the man walked away from her and issued a second ‘Have a nice day’ that her attention was broken again. She put the paper down and turned in her chair.

Her guest was standing there. He was wearing his pants from last night and the tank top. She fought the urge to frown; he could have put on the one of the fluffy bathrobes hanging in the bathroom, he didn’t have to leave yet. Unless he wanted to. She bit back a small piece of disappointment at that. _But_ , she did notice he wasn’t wearing that stupid, wretched feeling wig. His hair was a triumph of spikes and black flame. He was fucking handsome. She nearly blushed, but sensed that she’d only partially been successful. There was probably the slightest hint of pink to her cheeks and nose. She smiled at him.

“I like the hair _much_ better.”

He smirked at her, “Thanks.” He looked relieved about that for some reason. Did he not like his hair? Is that why he hid it? She wondered why, she thought his hair was amazing.

“You didn’t have to get dressed quite so soon, you could have worn one of the bathrobes.” She mentioned.

“It’s okay.” He didn’t want to overstay and end up losing money due to her anger.

“Okay then, breakfast?” She gestured at the table.

Vegeta stared, when had there been a table in this place? But he covered that up by noticing that it was sunk a few steps down into a separate part of the room just like the living area was. From the door, you would see the desk for work on the raised area and it would hide the table from view.

A bit of curtain wafted into his view and Vegeta looked over at it. A balcony! When was there—Gods damn it, he really hadn’t paid attention last night. The windows weren’t windows like he’d thought they were, they were twin doors, French doors that led out onto a what looked to be pretty big and long balcony that seemed to stretch around the part of the suite that was the edges of the hotel. Shit. He’d been so focused on getting the money that he… Well, whatever, didn’t matter now. But he would make a note to himself about being so intent on getting the cash that he didn’t keep himself safe by being as aware of every part of his surroundings as he knew to be. He wasn’t new to this, he knew better. What did the money matter, if he wasn’t safe to use it.

“It’s alright, the balcony comes with the place.” She laughed a little, strained, drawing his attention back to her. She too was looking out at the windows exposing the balcony, but it was her expression that… she looked pale. _Was that… is she haunted?_ Suddenly she snapped her eyes away from the balcony and turned back to the table, “I never go out there. Breakfast?”

Okay, he cautiously stepped towards her and the table. As he stepped up from the living area and padded across the rise to step down into the dining area, he asked, “Then why do you get the penthouse suite if it comes with a balcony you don’t like and don’t use?”

She looked up at him, her smile genuine, “Because the penthouse is the best. And I only take the best.” She looked him up and down a moment, pointedly, blatantly, before turning to the table.

He smirked as he stepped down into the dining area. He came up beside her, turned, and leaned back against the table as close to her as he could get without pulling her and her chair out and straddling the both of them face to face. He crossed his arms over his chest. Smirking down at her. He saw the blush pink turn a vivid red spread across her cheeks, nose, and deepening the tips of her ears. She didn’t look up at him, trying to hide; he thought it was cute. Then she looked up at him, blushing violently but meeting him eye to eye; and damn, that was so fucking sexy.

“Yes,” she said, “I only take the best.” She bit her lower lip again and he suddenly had the urge to pull her and the chair out and straddle them. Maybe he could work out a little side deal for a morning fuck. Clearly, they’d _both_ enjoyed their night together. And he could use the money for some food that wasn’t ramen to get Raditz and he through the week, that would make for a nice change.

“Uh,” she looked from him to the table, “there’s, uh, there’s other chairs.” She pointed to the one next to her.

_Oh, shit_ , he nodded and pushed off the table to sit down properly. He didn’t want to screw anything up right now. Not when he might be able to… _Holy shit!_ His eyes widened at the spread before him.

“I didn’t know what you like so I ordered, well, I ordered everything. Eat your fill.”

He looked over at her, but she’d already taken up her paper and was reading it again. He looked back at the plethora of food. Pancakes, waffles, muffins, toast with jam or honey, his choice. Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. Ham. Fruit. Yogurt. Granola. Milk. Orange juice. Coffee. Holy shit! This was amazing. He’d never seen so much food. His stomach growled, betraying him. But he didn’t care. He immediately took up a fork and knife and—paused. He glanced over at her concealed behind her paper again. From underneath its cover, he saw the lone blueberry muffin on her plate. It was large, but, he looked over at the spread of breakfast foods, it seemed rather small by comparison.

She must have picked up on his silence. “It’s okay, I’m good with a muffin. If I wasn’t, I would have served myself it already. I’ve been up since last night.”

He stared. “You have?”

She lowered an edge of her paper, to meet his look, “Yes, I don’t sleep.” She went back to her paper.

He gave that a second to sink in before tucking into the plate full of eggs and the other plate of heaped high with bacon.

“So,” he said around his fourth forkful of scrambled eggs, the fluffiest damn things he’d ever tasted and perfectly seasoned too, “you don’t sleep, you don’t eat, what the hell is it that you do do…”

“Bulma.”

“Bulma?”

“I buy and sell companies. It’s what I’m in town to do right now…”

“Vegeta.”

“Vegeta.” She reached down and took up her coffee cup, the paper falling away so he could see her face clearly again.

He also clearly saw that she’d taken maybe two bites out of her muffin. Small bites too, not like his bites. That small thing would be gone in two bites from him.

“Hmm,” he went back to his bacon. Munching down five stripes easily and happily.

“I have to leave soon,” he froze, eyes slipping to her then back to the food then back to her again, “but you don’t have to. Feel free to take your time before you go. Like I said, eat your fill. I’ll leave your five hundred zeni on the desk over there.”

He nodded and went back to his grand meal. Raditz would be so jealous. But, Vegeta grinned to himself, the asshole had left only a few sips of broth for Vegeta after horking down the last package of ramen they had in the apartment, he could just sit there and listen to the fantastic meal Vegeta had after earning the rent. Unfortunately, her leaving so soon meant no morning sex to add on to the deal, but, hey, five hundred zeni was five hundred zeni.

“Is it okay if I grab a quick shower or maybe a bath before I go?” He tried.

“Sure, why not.”

He grinned as he gulped down some juice. She continued reading and he continued eating.

He patted his full belly as he surveyed the devastation he had wrought in such a short time. Coffee urn, empty. Juice carafe, empty. Milk one too. Serving plate after serving plate, empty. The only survivors of his hungry warpath was some strawberry jam, honey, and a few spare pats of butter.

“Launch, Launch,” she was saying, standing by the desk now, getting ready to leave, “just get in the fucking limo and get over here if you’re so worried about your car. Kami, damn it. What’s the update on the Turtle deal?”

…

“Really?”

…

“Hmm, well, I’ll see you soon and we can discuss that when we’re in the office.”

Vegeta stood up from the table. She turned to him, eyes on him.

He pointed to the bedroom doorway and mouthed the word ‘bath’ to her. She nodded and he walked away. Bulma turned back to her desk and the papers on it, but what she reached for required her to pin the phone receiver between her shoulder and cheek. She pulled her pocketbook back out, opened it, and counted off the back of her bills. One, two, three, four, five hundred zeni bills. She leaned over and laid them on her desktop before closing her pocketbook back up and replacing back inside her jacket pocket.

_“…Bulma, are you sure you still want to go ahead with this dinner tonight?”_

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

_“Because the old man is bringing his granddaughter with him.”_

“Ah, yes, Maron, wasn’t it?”

_“Yes.”_

“Not exactly a prodigy and not exactly a real part of the business. I think he must be confusing me with someone else. My head isn’t turned by that sort of a pretty face and my head isn’t turned by any face period during business.”

_“Actually, I think she was meant to turn Yamcha’s head and that was supposed to be the thing that distracted you.”_

“Well, that isn’t going to turn my head either. Yamcha is old news and currently moving out of _my_ apartment. So, again, whatever trick the old man was trying to throw at me by flashing around his swimsuit model granddaughter just bit the dust. Anything else.”

_“Yamcha aside, I still don’t like the idea of you going to dinner tonight with this old coot alone. The granddaughter may be a nonissue, but he certainly isn’t. He’s tough, Bulma, much tougher than he seems._

_“You know, I know a lot of good guys.”_

“Tch,” Bulma scoffed with disdain, “yeah right.”

_“I do! And I could put out a few calls, send you in there with some backup. Look, really, I’m serious, Bulma. You shouldn’t go to dinner alone.”_

Bulma sighed. Really? This is what Launch was on about? Not anything to deal with the biggest business deal of her life and her attorney was worried about who she was taking to dinner to… night…

“Hmm,” Bulma’s eyes found the opening to the bedroom. Slowly she walked away from the desk. 

_“Hmm? What ‘hmm’? Bulma? Bulma!”_

Stepping down into the living area and back up again into the bedroom. The sound of running water reached her free ear. The smell of fresh hot water reached her nostrils. She inhaled deeply.

“That smells good.” She said to herself. Wishing _she’d_ opted for a bath rather than a quick shower last night.

_“What smells good?”_ Launch flitted in her ear. _“Bulma?”_

Bulma heard the splash of water. She approached the bathroom opening, her eyes catching the folded-up pants and top sitting on the dresser.

_“Bulma? You there?”_

“Yes,” she answered as she stepped into the threshold of the bathroom. She looked over at the man, that caramel-skinned Adonis from last night, laying back in the massive, jacuzzi bathtub. The jets running. Steam rising. He didn’t look as peaceful as he did when he slept, but his smirk more than made up for it. He looked so… she smiled, he looked so…

_“Bulma, what the hell is that? Is that water? Why is there water? Where are you?”_

“My bathroom.”

_“Are you taking a bath? Now?!”_

“You know what, Launch, don’t worry about dinner tonight. I’ll see you downstairs soon.”

_“What?! Bulma! Bulma!!”_

_Click._ Bulma disconnected the call. She held onto the phone, leaning back against the glass shower door, and watching the man she’d spent the night with soaking and relaxing in a nice, hot, jacuzzi bath.

After a few moments, “Ahem!” She cleared her throat loudly to be heard over the roar of the running jets.

It was clear that he’d heard her enter and continue her phone conversation by how nonchalantly his eyes opened. They turned and focused on her. Her smile remained.

“I hope you have a nice dinner tonight.” He said simply.

“I hope so too. How about you join me? _Annnd_ … how about you join me for the rest of the week? I don’t need any,” _how should I put this_ , “ _personal_ entanglements this week, this deal is too important, and your services suit me just fine.”

Vegeta never fought so hard in his life as he fought to not let his eyes bug out of his skull or let out a whoop. Instead, he allowed himself to smirk. The smuggest damn smirk of his life. Aimed right at her. She bit her lower lip tantalizingly in the face of it. And under the foam of the churning waters, he felt himself get a little hard. If it weren’t for his First Rule about no kissing on the mouth, he’d bite that succulent looking lip himself. _Both_ of them and then he’d content himself by taking his mouth down to her nether lips to do the same. He nearly licked his lips. So… he was right, they both had had fun last night.

“Well,” she stepped forward, approaching his churning bath, “how much? Six days and nights. I’ll need you at my beck and call, of course.”

“Well, I don’t know about beck and call,” he said teasingly but he meant it, shooting some venom into his eyes. She caught on to it, nodded, and he went on, “but… six days… six nights…,” his mind quickly shot out a wild number, an unbelievable one, “Ten thousand zeni.”

“Ten thousand,” she scoffed, crossing her arms under her chest to lift them up pronouncedly; it caught his attention, which was her ploy, and he applauded her technique, but it didn’t exactly sink into him they way it might with other men. After all, he did the same thing with the bulge in his pants at times with clients, just to help negotiations along for the better for himself. “It was only five hundred for the night. Five hundred per night for six nights is three thousand!”

“Days too.” He rushed out. “You want the full boyfriend experience, don’t you?”

“ _Four_ thousand. And I don’t need a boyfriend for this. Just a companion.”

“ _Six_ thousand,” he dropped his price down, “for the full _companion_ experience.”

“Five.”

“Done.” He agreed quickly unless too much bargaining cost him everything. He didn’t escape his notice that if it had occurred to her to keep her hooker around for the week, if he made it too complicated or tough, she could just go find another hooker to replace him.

That didn’t sit well with him.

“ _On top_ ,” he added pointedly, “of the five hundred for last night.”

“Agreed.” She nodded.

_Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit!_ He couldn’t believe it! He’d just negotiated for this month’s rent _plus, PLUS. Five. Thousand. Zeni!_

“You’ll need some better clothes. Like for tonight, for instance, wear a suit. Nothing too fancy, it’s not black tie for Kami’s sake, but it is high-end. Dress for it.”

Before Vegeta could open his mouth, she was reaching into her jacket again. She withdrew her pocketbook, opened it, and began rifling through it.

“How does twelve hundred zeni sound? That should work for a nice suit.” She pulled out a small amount of bills, but ones with blatantly large denominations.

He couldn’t help it this time, Vegeta’s eyes bulged.

She looked up at him and held up the bills, “I’ll leave them on the desk with your five hundred, okay?”

He nodded dumbly.

She turned and left.

_Wait, what?! What the hell just happened?! Was she… Is she…_

Vegeta quickly shut off the jets and abandoned his hot bath in lieu of scrambling after the Woman with all the money.

He found her, true to her word, placing the bills next to a fold of five hundred-zeni bills on top of the desk. He tied his bathrobe shut as he padded up to her, his eyes riveted by all the cash literally right there for his taking.

“Wait a minute, are you saying…,” he couldn’t believe he was about to say this. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he would ever be saying this. Not even after his good fortune of last night.

“Yes,” she answered before he could get the question out.

He looked at her to find her eyes already waiting to meet his.

She nodded. “I’ll give you an allowance to buy new clothes for the week. Oh, and you can keep them afterward. And, yes, it’s on top of the five thousand zeni.”

He gaped openly at the bills on the desk.

“Oh, and by the way, you shouldn’t sell yourself short. I would have paid the ten thousand.” His eyes flitted over to her just in time to see her beaming smile before she leaned in and he felt her lips on his cheek.

They were soft. Really soft.

She pulled away and his arm reached out and latched around her waist. She let out a little yelp of surprise as he drew her closer to him.

He pressed his face close to hers. Not close enough to kiss her. But close enough to tempt fate.

“Baby, you’re going to enjoy having me around so much you won’t want to ever let me go.” He purred at her. He didn’t know why he’d done it or why he even said any of that, but… it just suddenly… happened.

She huffed a little laugh in his face, her smile becoming patently false; she put her hands on his chest and pushed herself away, “I can and I _will_ let you go, Vegeta, at the end of the week.”

Free from his grasp, she turned and walked around the desk to fetch her briefcase. She headed for the door.

“Have fun shopping.” She bade him as farewell. And left the penthouse suite, now _their_ penthouse suite.

Vegeta looked all around him, analyzing everything anew. The glamour of it all. The elegance. The money. _Their_ penthouse suite.

Vegeta grinned like an idiot, shouting incoherent things of jubilation as he practically dove at the phone on the desk while simultaneously gathering up the bills in his hands. He fisted them into wads. He had it. He had the money. In his hands. Hurriedly, he dialed.


	8. New Deal

There was ringing. Or was that in his head? Maybe his head… Nope, that was… that was definitely ringing. Somewhere. A phone. Yeah, a phone. Right? They were called phones right. Wait, did he even have a phone? Well there _was_ ringing, so yeah, he had a phone? Or was it the neighbors? Gods damn, thin walls.

But there was still ringing.

He roused himself enough to reach out. Blindly.

His fist landed on the nightstand. Well, what he used _as_ a nightstand.

The ringing continued.

_Shit. Fucking neighbors. Answer your damn phone!_

_“Fuck you! It’s your phone, asshole!”_

Wait. Raditz lifted his head. Squinting. What? His phone?

His dark, bleary eyes searched dumbly around himself. What the fuck?

His eyes landed on his nightstand and the pale-yellow phone on it.

“ _Aw shit_ ,” he grumbled half into his pillow.

He picked up his phone and held it to his ear.

“Yeah?” He managed.

“Your stupid ass better have earned some rent last night.”

Raditz’s head shot off his pillow, “Mom?!” He was definitely wide awake now.

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. A chuckle at his expense. A chuckle he knew all too well.

“Oh, for shit’s sake, Geets”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Fine, _Vegeta_ , whatever. Look, where the hell are you and what the hell is this about?”

“Did you earn some cash last night?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“Two-fifty. My half, asshole. You?”

“Did you spend it?”

Silence.

“Did. You. Spend. It?”

There was a threat in every word.

Raditz turned and sat up fully in bed. He ran a hand over half his face while letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Yeah.” He finally admitted.

“Do you have anything left?”

“If I did, do you think I would be hiding here?”

There was another pause.

“I bought a four-pack of ramen so we can eat for the week. Kind of. Sort of. Not enough.”

“Did the money go up your nose?”

“No, it didn’t go to Zarbon.”

Another pause. This one full of knowing. Raditz rolled his eyes with another sigh and flung off his blanket. His feet landed on the cold floor.

“Fine, yeah, some of it did. Like I said, I bought ramen.”

“Why did you go back to him after I left you?”

“He promised me some good shit while he tried for the gabilllionth time to get me to get you for him.”

“And?”

“And he finally realized I was just using him to get the good stuff. I didn’t get very far this time and he took what I had on me rather than rough me up. I managed to pocket a couple of zeni before he got it all though.”

There was silence. It was their understanding between each other. Vegeta didn’t judge Raditz for doing drugs, he didn’t like it, but he didn’t judge Raditz for it. And Raditz was loyal to Vegeta, the only person he was loyal to… the only friend he had actually. The only _true_ one. And Raditz got the feeling that he was the only friend Vegeta had. And that was it. They had each other. They knew the worst about each other. They didn’t judge each other. They stayed loyal to each other. That was it. They understood each other.

“So how was _your_ night? And like I asked, where the hell are you?”

“My night went well. I’ve had a plate of pancakes, bacon, eggs, waffles, muffins, toast with butter and jam and honey. Orange juice. Milk. Coffee. You name it, I ate this morning. At the Satan City Grand Hotel.”

Raditz’s eyes flew open. “Holy shit!”

The laugh on the other end was taunting.

“I knew it!” Raditz exclaimed, “I fucking knew it! The rich ones always like you! So,” Raditz quieted down, eager to hear the rest, “how much did you get?”

Vegeta paused. Frowning. They understood each other, _but_ … Vegeta was hoping for rent _plus_ food for the week. Well, he sighed and hoped the receiver didn’t pick up on it and transmit it to his only friend’s ear, “Five hundred zeni.”

Vegeta yanked the receiver away form his ear at the uproarious whoop that let loose on the other end.

Raditz was up and out of bed. His long hair bouncing wildly as he jumped around the room, cheering. Anything they made tonight, they could keep! They could buy some real food rather than just some ramen packets they had to share between the two of them! Yes!!! They could buy eggs or, or hot dogs or, or just _anything_ really! Anything they earned could be put to food! Raditz’s stomach let out a howl as loud as his mouth had. And he didn’t have to hide from Para… gus… Raditz lowered his arms, the receiver lowering down by his side. Actually, he still had to avoid Paragus. It wasn’t like Vegeta was here right now with the money. And it sure as hell wasn’t like Raditz had the money either. He put the phone back to his ear.

“How fast can you get back?”

Vegeta’s frown changed. To a smirk.

“I’m not.”

“What?!” Raditz screeched. “You’re telling me you’re keeping all that to yourself.” A knife of betrayal lanced through him. He couldn’t believe his only friend in the world wou—

“This morning, she offered me a new deal.”

The lance of betrayal froze in its tracks. He stood still in the middle of their apartment. His breath caught in his throat. Waiting.

“She wants me to stay the week with her. Has a big business deal going down and needs someone to go to things with.”

Still waiting for more.

“She’s giving me five thousand zeni.”

Raditz’s brain temporarily blacked out, but when it came back to functionality, his stomach rumbled loudly. He swore it said ‘ _Steeeeaaak!_ ’ He couldn’t agree more. His mouth watering.

“You fucking serious?”

“Yes. _And..._ ”

_And?! There’s an ‘And’?!_

“She’s giving me money to buy some new clothes.”

“Well, sure, can’t drag the rough around the fancy set, now can you?”

Vegeta nodded.

“How much?”

Vegeta looked down at the wads still in his hands. “Twelve hundred.”

“ _Holy shit!_ ”

“I’ll leave the five hundred zeni at the front desk for you to come pick up.” The words suddenly rushed out of Vegeta’s mouth as he stared at the cash in his hands.

The bills were suddenly trembling. His hands were shaking. Why was he shaking? What was wrong with him? It just… it just hit him that he was already holding more money than he’d ever hoped to make. It was real. It was right here in his hands. And he was terrified of it.

“Raditz,” he asked. His voice unusually small and timid sounding as he fought hard to keep the revealing tremor out of it.

“Yeah?”

“Where do I go to get nice clothes? Like… really nice clothes?” He swallowed hard. His hands shaking even harder. One of the wads threatening to fall from his grasp.

Raditz scratched his head with his freehand as he made his way over to their ‘kitchen’ and opened up a cupboard to eye the four pink packages of ramen sitting inside. The only things inside the cupboard.

“Well,” he reached down to adjust the waistband on his black briefs, the only thing he was wearing other than his bright red garter where he normally kept whatever he earned or the equally bright red band wrapped around one of his biceps where he kept his nightly income as well. “You’re in Satan City Grand, right?”

Vegeta nodded again until he realized that he was on a phone and his friend couldn’t see him nodding, “Right,” he answered.

Raditz’s grin was dazzling and bordered on wolfish, “Snake Way, baby.”

Vegeta nodded. Snake Way. That’s right. It was… it was literally just down the street, not even a few blocks from here. The infamous avenue made famous by Princess Snake, the daughter of a real estate mogul who convinced her father to buy an entire street of shops and used her wiles again to entice the fashion and jewelry elite that she practically drowned herself in on a daily basis to fill those shops with their wares… It quickly became a socially elite icon of the city decades ago. A glamorous destination for the rich with cash to burn on trendy fashionista tastes.

For some reason, that didn’t stop Vegeta’s shaking.

It increased it.


	9. Snake Way

The sun was so golden in the sky that it accentuated the bright baby blue of the sky and the fluffy white of the clouds to heavenly proportions. It was an incredible day. Beautiful. Bright. The kind he normally slept right through. Resting up for the night when all this disappeared and he as well as others walked the sidewalks and haggled with the ones on the streets over prices for what services they wanted. But this, this was so different it was like he was an alien abruptly dropped into the middle of this weird planet called Earth that he just could not fathom the culture of whatsoever. Everywhere he looked the street, this drive, was full of life and people wandering a street so clean he didn’t know that streets like this existed. Everything around him was clean. Immaculate. And the smell… there wasn’t any. All he smelled was fresh air with an occasional drifting scent of women’s perfume, men’s cologne, all of which were more expensive than anything he could ever afford, and the aromatic scent of jasmine planted all around and climbing up the lithe trunks of the decorative cherry trees in full pale pink bloom lining both sides of the Way. The people he passed wore casual dress or business suits, but what struck him was how much everything they wore was so unlike what he was wearing and how much more expensive it all seemed to be; their hair perfectly coifed obviously by stylists of some sort. Others were dressed casually, much more cheaply, but were laden with big, heavy cameras dangling down their fronts by thick straps. Tourists.

Vegeta knew he stood out amongst the people, except for but perhaps also including the tourists. He’d had nothing else to where other than what he wore last night when the Woman had picked him up. His attire was definitely meant more for the night than the day, but he took careful note of the people who were walking Snake Way, not ogling it or photographing it to the sounds of rapid-fire clicks but as though they owned the place, that they belonged there. The ones walking around like it was only natural for them to be there and that everyone else were mere guests of theirs. Annoying guests flittering in and out of their lives and clogging up their paths.

He paid special attention to the suits. She said that he was supposed to grab a suit for tonight, right. Nice for a fancy dinner but not too fancy, so, he reasoned, that if he used the business suits as a basis and looked at something a step up from that maybe that would work for tonight, right? Right? Anyways, he could always ask a salesperson for help, right? That was what they were there for right, to make a sale? To help a sale happen? To not disappoint or make a customer look foolish so that they kept the return business? To make money? And Vegeta had money to spend, so that had to work in his favor, right? Right?

He never felt more uncomfortable in his life. Everything was bright and sunny and he was a storm cloud grumbling through. The only thing that steadied him was the twelve hundred zeni in his boot and the knowledge that if he didn’t screw this up, if he helped her have a great time for the rest of the week, he would have five thousand zeni and a whole high-class wardrobe to maybe do some escort service with and earn more than just what the street had to offer. At the end of this week, he would have a better life than what he started it with. That was all that was keeping him going as he walked the clean sidewalks of Snake Way while his dark eyes bounced from this way and that, taking in the suits of the men, and then the storefronts’ mannequins.

The Way was predominantly aimed at female shoppers, obvious given who’d essentially ‘invented’ the drive, but there were a few men’s shops. _Very_ few, Vegeta was noting. For every four women’s shops, there was one men’s. One! Still though, as he passed by and his eyes peered even further into the depths of the store, he could see that they were well more than twice the size of the any of the women’s shops. Probably… he counted the sections that where themselves store-sized as he passed another men’s wear shop, one, two, three, four… and he passed yet another women’s wear shop, one, two. Yeah, twice the size. The women’s had the shop divided in half, dresses to one side, separates to the other with accessories fitting each on little tables sporadically scattered throughout both sections. The men’s were much more clearly defined, the shops divided into four parts. Shirts to the front left, pants to the front right, jackets to the rear left, and vests to the rear right with tables adorned with ties, pocket squares, cufflinks, tiepins, and socks and shoes arrayed in each section they might pertain to.

A man on a cellphone passed him, close enough for Vegeta to hear part of his conversation. He was barking at someone about selling stocks now or he’d have the guy’s ass for lunch. Vegeta eyed him up and down. The suit looked to be dark gray, white shirt, wine-colored tie, black belt, and black loafers. _Okay, that’s where I’ll begin. What would make that a dinner look? Maybe lose the white shirt, maybe a black one. Other than that, that seems like pretty good look._

His eyes began perusing the storefront’s with a new agenda in mind. Find a mannequin that looked like that guy.

_Not there…_

_Nope…_

_Yeah, that’s it._ The white, faceless mannequin looked like a twin for stock guy. Vegeta eyed the façade as he stepped up to the shop door. Crystal clear, pristine glass that looked like it hadn’t ever seen a fingerprint. Oak trim both inside and out like the furniture in the hotel only with a shade or two darker stain. The door handle was brass made to look like gold. It reminded him of the hotel. He took that as a good sign.

He pulled the handle and entered.

The softest sing-song of notes chimed his arrival. Immediately he turned and went to the mannequin that had drawn him in.

He reached out for the price tag on the cuff—Suddenly there was another hand. It covered the tag.

Vegeta looked up. It was a salesman. He wore a black jacket, ivory shirt, golden tie, ivory slacks. His blonde hair and blue eyes stood out in contrast to the coat, but his black loafers didn’t. He looked every bit the part of the sort of person that seemed knowledgeable about men’s fashion. _Good_ , Vegeta thought; his eyes returned to the mannequin and the suit he was looking to buy.

“Can I help you?”

Vegeta noted the terse tone of his voice, but let it slide so long as the man helped get what he wanted and that much closer to his end goal of five thousand zeni. But his back teeth still set on edge.

“Yeah, what size is this suit?”

“I don’t think you can afford it.”

Vegeta’s eyes snapped to the man. His back teeth set to cut glass. Vegeta’s eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t ask what it costs, I asked what size it was.”

“I don’t think we have your size.” Blondie repeated with a snap to his pretty sounding voice.

Vegeta caught movement over the guy’s shoulder. He looked up. There was another salesman. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark suit and in stance with his legs spread shoulder-width apart. Arms lowered to his sides but hands already balled into fists. He was looking for a fight.

“You didn’t even look,” Vegeta said, calmly, coolly, and dangerously edged with malice. His eyes locked on the Brunetter itching for a brawl. Vegeta could definitely handle himself in a fight.

“We don’t need to, _I’m_ certain we don’t have your size _either_.” Brunette spat with a drawl of high and mighty self-importance.

Vegeta’s eyes traveled further. There were other men in the store watching them. Some customers, others other employees. His eyes fell on the one at the far register. He looked…

“Didn’t you hear him?” Blondie snapped.

Vegeta’s eyes shifted back to him. He had his hands on his hips, poised like some macho superhero. _What crap. Some superhero if you’ve only got balls when someone else’s pair is standing behind you._

“We don’t have your size. Now get out of our store.” Tough words from a guy who only had a spine because there were others there willing to fight.

Vegeta’s jaw clenched in his closed mouth. His lips pulled into a thin, grim line. His caught movement again. The guy at the register, he was reaching for the phone. The cops.

“Tch,” Vegeta rolled his eyes, turned back to the door, and threw it open as he stormed back out onto the blindingly bright and happy sidewalk. A solid ‘Fuck you’ kept back in his mouth.

He stomped back to the hotel. He was certain the call to the cops was being made. His description given. Some stupid story about how he was casing the joint or threatened them or tried to steal the suit, mannequin and all, being made up and exaggerated even further to the point of it being a thoroughly fake tale without any remote attachment to reality.

Vegeta’s fists clenched. The leather of his gloves straining. _Fuck them. Fuck all of them._ He didn’t need them. He didn’t need this…

The idea died in his mind with the same sting as what was in his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his hand. Refusing to call it what it was.

He _did_ need this money. He needed it so badly. That’s what…

No! He wasn’t going to say he was hurt! Not by this! Not by any of this! He’d do this. He’d get a suit. He’d find a way and she’d be happy and he’d still get his five thousand zeni and those assholes could go fuck themselves. He just… he needed to regroup. That’s it. Yeah, he needed to regroup and rethink his plan.

The doorman snapped to attention at his approach and held the door open for him with a polite, “Welcome to the Satan City Grand Hotel, Sir.”

Vegeta caught a vague ‘Enjoy your stay’ as he blew past the guy, through the opened door, and into the hotel’s lobby. He kept his head down, fists clenched, feet taking him to the elevators even if he wasn’t really thinking about that. Maybe he could call Raditz again. Snake Way wasn’t the only place in the city to get a good suit, a fancy suit. He had the money, he could catch the bus or a cab and go to one of those.

“Sir!” He heard some woman call. “Sir!”

It would take part of the money she’d given him for the suit, but maybe he didn’t need a vest. Jacket, shirt, pants, all the trimmings, socks and shoes. Yeah.

“Sir!”

Yeah. That could work. It was looking like it would have to.

“Sir!”

_Gods, won’t someone answer the fucking harpy._

A small hand but surprisingly firm wrapped around his bicep. It spun Vegeta around. Catching him thoroughly offguard with it’s strength.

“What the—”

“Sir,” the raven-haired woman barked at his face. He gaped at her. Her bangs cut perfectly straight just above her eyes and the rest of her hair pulled back into a tight, severe bun. Her business suit and knee-length skirt was a dark plum purple, her button-up shirt was golden-colored and made for a nice companion to the brass buttons on her coat and cuffs. Her plum purple tie accentuating it. “My name is Chi Chi Ox. I am the manager of this hotel and you are…?”

He stared. _Hotel manager? What the fuck?_

“Staying here.”

“I doubt that very much. With whom are you supposedly staying?”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. _Manager bitch._

“Bulma.”

“Bulma what?” Ox Bitch’s smile was plastered on her face as firmly set as a child’s dress up doll’s and just as patently fake. Her tone of voice all formal with no hint of the saccharine that the smile promised.

_Shit. Did she give me a last name? Yeah… maybe… no… wait, no she had to have told me her last name… … Hadn’t she? Shit._ He didn’t think she had!

“Bulmaaaa,” he began uncertainly, trying to conjure a last name out of thin air. His eyes wandering in panic.

_Ding!_

The elevator!

The doors opened and out stepped…

“Him!” Vegeta shouted and pointed at the uniformed young man that stepped out of the elevator and was heading into the lobby.

The little guy froze in his tracks. Eyes wide with fear. But oddly, Vegeta noted that they weren’t looking at him. The fear-filled eyes were staring at the Ox Bitch.

“He was our elevator guy last night.” Vegeta announced.

The Little Guy looked panicedly at the Ox Bitch. For a moment, Vegeta felt a pang of guilt and regret at pretty much throwing the kid under the bus. He looked so young, like this was his first job and he wanted nothing more than to do it right. Obviously getting the attention of the manager in this sort of a situation was not part of doing it right.

Ox Bitch turned on the sharp narrow points of her red high heels to face the uniformed elevator bellman. “Dende, did you just come off the night shift?”

“Y-y-y-yessss, Miss Ox.” He stammered. His teeth chattering as audibly as his voice tremored. The poor kid was shaking.

With a single gesture, his boss ordered him to stand right in front of her. He didn’t hesitate to go before her firing squad, but he gulped heavily as his foot lifted to take his first step towards her.

Vegeta waited. He wasn’t sure why… Well, not true, he knew why. He was pretty sure that if he made a move for the elevators before this kid could vouch for him, Ox Bitch would have security on his ass within seconds… Of course, all this was depending on whether or not this terrified kid would tell the truth. Would tell his stick-up-her-ass boss that her customer booked in the penthouse suite for the week, probably her richest customer, had brought back a hooker she picked up on a dirty, grungy boulevard not technically far from here, but far enough to definitely be from the part of town that she didn’t what her clientele even knowing about let alone seeing. Would this kid do that. Vegeta didn’t know why he was standing there other than he didn’t want the police called and he didn’t… want to be… let down again today. He was standing there hoping that there was at least one person that looked at him and didn’t see a whore.

“Dende, did this… _gentleman_ come here last night?” Again her smile was fake sugar and her tone was deadly serious.

“Y-y-y-yesss, Miss Ox. He came here with Miss Briefs.”

“That’s it, Bulma Briefs! Thanks, Dende.” Vegeta clamped the kid on the shoulder and now felt comfortable enough to head to the elevator and await its arrival with whoever it’s new attendant would be.

The kid did it. He couldn’t believe it. The kid had actually vouched for him in the face of Ox Bitch. What could he say other than the kid had some major balls and a ramrod backbone to boot. Thank the Gods.

Chi Chi pursed her lips as the unwanted guest moved off towards the elevator. She lowered her voice. Coal black eyes shifting from her unseemly visitor to her trembling employee.

“Dende, did that really happen?”

“Y-y-yess, Miss. Miss Briefs came in with him and I took them up to her suite and he stayed with her all night.”

Chi Chi shut her eyes. Every fiber of her body wanted to scream, but she knew she couldn’t. She could take it out on her kickboxing dummy later. Right now, however, her biggest and best client had brought an obvious hooker into her establishment and worse, he was a continuing guest of her preeminent client. She let out a heavy sigh. Opened her eyes. The young bellman looked like he was about to pass out.

“Thank you for your honesty, Dende, it truly is greatly appreciated. Have a nice day and see again tonight for your shift.”

He breathed the biggest, most blatant sigh of relief she’d ever seen in her life. She couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Th-th-thank you, Miss Ox. Thank you. You have a nice day too.” The words tumbled out of her grinning mouth and he hurried off past her.

Chi Chi eyed the elevator. It _ding_ ed, opened, and her unwanted guest entered. _Okay_ , she thought, _let’s set some ground rules._

Chi Chi immediately charged the elevator. Before it’s doors could close, she stepped in.

“What the hell?!” He bellowed at her loudly.

Good for him, but she bellowed louder. She grabbed his bicep again and yanked him back off the elevator.

“I’m here with Bulma fucking Briefs! What more do you want?!”

“Come with me, Sir. And please no cursing.”

“Fuck this,” he growled under his breath as she refused to release his upper arm as she dragged him along with her across the lobby to a secluded door he hadn’t noticed before.


	10. Chi Chi Ox, Hotel Manager

Vegeta flatly refused to sit down in the ‘guest’ chair, very nearly sat down in it, slumped back, and propped his booted feet up on the edge of her desk just to piss her off. After his day so far, why shouldn’t someone else be fucking pissed too? Instead, he was trying desperately to keep the last of his cool and the lingering hopes of five thousand zeni at the end of the week. If Ox Bitch didn’t kick him out first. It’s not like he’d be able to get back in if she did. First of all, he didn’t have Bulma’s number or any way of reaching her other than practically camping out in front of the hotel until she got back and that was where the second problem came in, he highly doubted that Ox Bitch would let him loiter outside. So here he was. Stationed against a spare bare strip of wall right next to her door. Leaning back against it. Arms crossed over his chest. He made sure to keep his head down. If he faced her now… well, the look on his face, if it nearly got the cops called on him at some stupid suit store, then it would definitely get them called here. At the very least, he would be guaranteed to get the boot here.

At the periphery of his vision, he caught the sight of red pumps marching around the little sitting area and disappearing around the lines of a solid black desk. He closed his eyes and focused his breathing.

Chi Chi promptly sat down in her adequately cushioned office chair. She took a moment, more or less a lingering glance at the papers neatly sorted and piled on her desk, the day’s work. And she couldn’t get to it immediately because she had this _problem_ to deal. She was so embarrassed that a hotel such as iconic and grand and elegant as the one _she_ ran had to endure, her eyes lifted to the man trying to act so too cool for this and like he was some sort of bad boy. She fought rolling her eyes, _en-dure_ a common _streetwalker_ in her establishment. And he was the guest of one of her most prestigious client no less! For Heaven’s sake, what was she supposed to do? She knew exactly what to do. It was just… she _hated_ that she had to do it. She wanted nothing more than to tell this leech to hit the road here and now, but… but…

She began with a sigh that would have been heavier if it weren’t for the fact that she didn’t exactly want any of this getting back to her top client. Technically speaking, she had no doubts that he would run and tell Miss Briefs all the nasty little details, probably with embellishments of how poorly he was treated, and either Miss Briefs would complain, which was bad enough, or worse, she would leave and no longer be a return customer, and even worse, if that was even possible, Miss Briefs would badmouth the Satan City Grand Hotel to all of her socially elite friends and there would go the reputation and high-end customer base that the Grand relied on. And there would go everything Chi Chi Ox worked her ass off for.

“What is your name?”

“Tch,” he scoffed at her. As if she actually cared.

“Please, I like to know who I’m dealing with. What is your name?”

He opened his eyes and lifted his head to meet her adamant stare. She sat there with hands folded in front of her on the desk’s top, sitting ramrod straight, and surrounded by an environment that was purely black office furniture with white walls and golden, simply-designed picture frames of various commendations and degrees received from schools. It all coming across as just as cold and regimented as the woman in the chair at the center of it.

“My name is Vegeta Prince.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and scoffed, “I meant your _real_ name.

He knew it. _Bitch._

He pushed off the wall and walked straight up to her desk. She reeled back as if repelled by his mere presence or intimidated by it. He reached into his vest, took out his wallet, and slammed it down on her desk with an almighty _SMACK!_ that had her jumping in her seat.

Then he just stood there. Staring her down.

She returned his look with as best a chance at a glare as she could muster even though he saw a sheen of sweat starting to form on her hairline. He watched Ox Bitch sit back up, ramrod straight. Watched her hand reach forward without a trace of tremor which he thought was commendable. Watched her pick up his wallet. Open it. And read.

Her eyes widened.

“Your name really is Prince. Huh. Okay then, Mister Prince, we have rule a here at the Satan City Grand Hotel that we must be notified of any guests of our clients staying with them so that we may better accommodate _all_ of our client’s needs. You are a guest of Miss Briefs, I have to accept that,” she added needlessly, he snorted at her, and she moved on, “and I take it that there are no _other_ …,” she sighed heavily again, “ _customers_ of yours in this hotel?”

The urge to say ‘Fuck you’ nearly ripped out of his throat, instead, “Tch.” His disdain was just as palpable.

Then he reconsidered, “Fuck you.” He added. Needlessly.

This time it was her turn to snort at him. “Good, well now that we have _that_ out of the way. Maybe we can get something else out of the way. When Miss Briefs leaves at the end of the week, I expect to never, ever see your face here ever again. Is that clear?” She didn’t wait for him to agree. “Till then, there is a standard of…,” Chi Chi looked down his body, she nearly sneered, “ _attire_ that we require here. You will be expected to dress accordingly.”

“What the fuck do you think I was out doing?!” Vegeta suddenly exploded. He dove at the desk. She let out a shrill squeal of fear. Yanking back her hands as he ripped his wallet out of them. Her chair went wheeling back as he opened his wallet.

“You fucking snobs! You assholes!” He fingers fought to pry the center of his wallet apart. “She! She gave me this!” Vegeta yanked out the bills. Threw them on the table. “She told me to buy a nice suit for dinner! So I go! I go to fucking _Snake Way!_ And you know what!”

Chi Chi stared at him.

He didn’t wait for her to agree.

“ _The fuckers throw me out for even stepping in their stupid fucking store! They even tried to call the fucking cops on me!! And all! All!! Because I wanted to buy a stupid fucking suit for her and dinner tonight!_ ” Vegeta finished. Huffing. His rage spent, but not forgotten.

Chi Chi stared at him. Then at the crinkled bills strewn across the neat array of piles on her desk’s top. There was a lot of money there. Bills with high tender amounts. She looked up at him again. And something in his dark eyes, something she didn’t want to admit she saw.

Hurt. He was trying. And it hurt him that no one was giving him the chance. Except for Miss Briefs, perhaps.

In the silence between them, there was a knock on her door. A small timid voice called from the other side.

“Miss Ox, is-is-is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Chi Chi answered with more confidence than she’d expected from herself. “Everything is going to be alright.”

Slowly, she returned her heels to the floor. Straightened her spine again. Adjusted her attire back to it’s crisp and unruffled appearance. She cleared her throat.

“You… you may take your money back, Mister Prince.”

Vegeta bit back whatever he would’ve said next and began gathering up his money from her desk.

Chi Chi reached past him to her phone.

He froze as she pulled the receiver to her ear.

“Tch,” he rolled his eyes, shoving his money back in his wallet. He should have known. Once a got enough for another employee to come knocking on the door. He kissed the five thousand goodbye. “Sure, call the fucking cops, Bitch, tell them I said ‘Hi’.” Her fingers danced along the buttons.

It barely rang once before her call was picked up.

“Miss Baba, this is Chi Chi Ox from the Satan City Grand Hotel. I have a gentleman here that needs suit for dinner at the…,” she put her hand over the receiver for a moment and turned to meet Vegeta’s stunned face, “What was the restaurant?”

_What the…?! Did she… Is she… helping me?!_ He shrugged dumbly.

Chi Chi nodded. Miss Briefs was a certain class of client with a very elite amount of money at her disposal; she was used to a certain lifestyle and expected others to accommodate themselves to her much higher standing, _not_ the other way around. There were only a handful, a literal handful of restaurants in the entire city that could meet those standards and they all required the same level of dress code. She removed her hand from the receiver, “He needs a suit that would be suitable for a business dinner at any of the Top Five, can I trust you to accommodate his needs?”

Silence.

“Thank you, I will be sending Mister Vegeta Prince over to you immediately.”

Chi Chi hung up the phone. She turned her attention fully on the stunned man in front of her. She folded her hands again and placed them once more on the surface of her desk amidst the neatly stacked piles of work she needed to be attending to.

“Up on the second floor of this hotel is a whole series shops and other special services we provide for clients including a spa, pool, gym, and everything our customers could possibly need at a moments notice including a men’s wear department and women’s wear department with a full array of attire for any event. Please, get on the elevator and request to be taken to the second floor. Head to the Men’s Department and Miss Baba should be waiting for you if not attend to you within a minute of your arrival. Good day, Mister Prince, pleasant shopping and have a pleasant dinner.”

Vegeta felt his body move. Felt his head nod, felt his feet carrying him to the door, felt his hand turn the knob and open the door, and felt his feet carry him all the way to the elevator. Dende wasn’t there, some other guy was, older. Vegeta thought he heard the guy mention his name as Nail or something.

“What floor, Sir?”

Nothing.

“Sir?”

Vegeta’s mind suddenly stuttered, “Second. Second floor. Shops.” He said dumbly. Still stunned.

_Did the Ox Bitch just…_ help _me?!_


	11. A Guest of the Forum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I haven't been updating lately, I haven't been writing either. Let alone have I been working more hours because two coworkers have left our department, but we're gearing up for the Holiday season already, but also Quarantine depression has hit me hard. It's difficult to find the energy or the inspiration to do anything other than work, eat, and sleep. I'm trying to break this fog, but it's not really working. So I'm trying just to write or work on anything. It may be awhile, sorry.

He still stood there with his wallet in his hand as the elevator came to a stop, a soft _ping_ sounded, and the doors opened.

“The Second Floor, Sir.” The tall, uniformed man said, eyeing Vegeta with more than just an air of caution and concern. It was apparent that he thought Vegeta shouldn’t be in this hotel any more than his Manager.

Vegeta’s legs moved once again without his mind keeping up with them. He stepped out into yet another landscape that stuttered his mind to a stop. Again.

It was like he’d stepped out of the real world and into something completely different. And actually a lot nicer looking than Snake Way. As the elevator doors closed behind him, Vegeta was left standing in a large rotunda. Much more than anything… how the hell did this even exist _inside!_

He looked around, his eyes catching on a dozen more of those columns from the lobby surrounding this elevator ‘lobby’ area. The floor was the same shiny, highly polished marble covered with a large, round, bright red, plush rug trimmed with bands of gold and ornate scroll work with the words ‘Satan City Grand Hotel Forum’ elegantly scrolled at its very center. Up above him was a dome that looked to be carved from the same marble. Just as polished and glistening in the golden-hued lights recessed at equal distanced recess all along the crowning shelf that sat atop the columns, bridging the columns and the dome. Every bit of ornamentation of the dome highlighted by the gold covering that was found on the lobby columns and columns here. It was excessive and completely dazzling in its finery. Blatantly boasting that this was a place meant for a certain pedigree of clientele. Its oculus glowed with seafoam-colored light, not overtly bright, but more like the way a crystal clean and clear ocean looked. Not Caribbean blue, but the sort of seafoam blue-green that might have born the beautiful Aphrodite; instead he thought of it as a pale comparison to the teal of the Woman’s bright hair. But it was nice compliment to the white/ivory, the gold, and even the bright red.

Finally, his mind snapped to. He slipped his wallet back into his vest’s inside pocket as Vegeta stepped away from the golden elevator doors inset into polished marble walls behind him. He stepped out from between two columns and into a long ‘avenue’ of lined by still further more columns spaced greater distances apart along either side. Each pillar with long stretches of clean glass between them as far as his eyes could see. All of it domed with a barrel ceiling of polished marble with gold-painted embellishments and recessed lights like the dome of the rotunda. Each pillar capped with golden statues of Gods or Goddesses or heroes or heroines. Each long and tall panel of glass had mannequin after mannequin behind it. Gold mannequins. On the left side, they wore men’s clothing. On the right, they wore women’s. He kept his focus on the left. 

Already he saw clothing that he could tell were just as fine as the one from the store he’d been kicked out of or perhaps more luxurious. The mannequins started off as business suits, nice ones. Really. Really. Nice ones. Cotton shirts he was certain had a thread count just as high as the sheets on the bed in penthouse came in every color of the rainbow and seemed to be of every hue therein. Vest. Slacks. Jackets. All of it. Each mannequin bore a unique outfit to match the Grecian/Roman statue faces that they bore. Behind them he could see gold-painted tables neatly arrayed with accessories. Ties, pocket squares, everything; just like the store he’d been kicked out of.

Vegeta kept walking. It was clear that these were daywear suits. He needed… He frowned, what did he need exactly? Was this where this Baba lady was? Was it in this first store that he was supposed to meet her?

He passed a pillar and rather than being greeted by another long, large panel of cleaned glass with more golden Heroes and Gods dressed for the modern day business meeting stationed in classical poses behind it, there were a pair of French doors with ornate gold painted and filigreed handles set into the clear glass right by their center seam. Vegeta stopped. He eyed it. Still unsure.

Would he be kicked out of this one as well? Even though he could tell them to call the Manager and ask her about him, would they? Would that even work? What if he mentioned this Baba chick right off the bat, would that work?

The feeling that this was his last chance clawed at his insides. His stomach twisting and clenching.

His frown set his jaw. He hated this feeling. He hated feeling like this. And if there is one thing that Vegeta Prince did when he was feeling like he was somehow less than in any environment… He sure as fuck wasn’t running away this time. Try as he might to convince himself that he’d been kicked out, it wasn’t entirely true; he was told to get out and the threat of a phone call to the cops had been fingertips away. He gotten spooked, panicked about the implications, and turned and ran.

He wasn’t going to run this time. No. He had the Hotel Manager’s approval to be here, she’d fucking sent him here. He was here to meet this Baba and he knew it and he’d let anyone else know it too. He wasn’t being run out again.

Vegeta reached out, gripped the handle nearest him, and pulled the glass door open. It swung open as light as a feather and just as quiet. He walked in. Again there was the softest chime to let the employees inside know a new customer had entered.

Vegeta stood there, waiting.

From the back of the room came a man, nicely dressed if somewhat… well… He suit was lime green. Not bright, mild in intensity, but there was still no missing that it was definitely lime green. With a lavender purple, mock turtleneck underneath to match the patent leather belt around his waist. His hair was the same color as a child’s dressing doll, but more trendily coifed. More suited for a night of clubbing than doing business selling expensive suits to businessmen. His eyes were a piercing sort of blue with… Vegeta nearly did a doubletake, the man was wearing lavender purple eyeliner. The lines were thin, but unmistakably there as the man came closer and closer. His shoes were highly polished black loafers catching every hint of light with every step. He was younger maybe in his twenties or perhaps early thirties if he took very, _very_ good care of himself; which Vegeta suspected he did, so perhaps he was about the same age as Vegeta. And the man’s smile was very much Mona Lisa, but with a true sense of genuine acceptance behind it. Vegeta didn’t get the feeling that he was… The young man reached out to him easily, his demur smile broadening with his proffered hand. And Vegeta noticed another thing, this guy was wearing matte lipstick. Just a shade or two dusty rose pinker than his possible natural lip color, but it was still there.

Suddenly Vegeta felt like he was in a totally alien world. Was he even on Earth anymore? What the hell was this?!

“Hello, welcome to the Satan City Grand Hotel’s Forum. My name is Fugo. How may I help you today, Sir?”

Vegeta stared for a moment. Then looked around him again. He was waiting. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. Waiting for the others to come out of the woodwork laughing at him, laughing at the joke they were making of him.

Fugo frowned, somehow still looking like some sort of avantgarde, high-end, fashion model even while doing so, “Excuse me, Sir, is everything alright? Did you hear me?”

Vegeta’s eyes eventually returned to him. There was no hint of animosity, thinly veiled or blatantly out in the open.

“Baba?” Was all he could manage. Was this really… _not_ a joke? At his expense. Was this really… Was he really going to get a nice suit for dinner with the Woman?

That Mona Lisa smile broke out on Fugo’s face again, “Well, if it’s Miss Baba you’re looking for, try two more shops down. She might be in charge of this whole level of the hotel, but her main realm his formal men’s wear. Just look for when the mannequins start to turn from day wear and clubbing attire to tuxedos and the like. Evenings seem to be her forte. Don’t ask me why, I’d honestly rather not know myself.”

Vegeta nodded, “Thank you.”

He turned and left the shop. As he moved to continue down the carpeted path, he watched Fugo out of the corner of his eye. The young, blonde man simply returned to the depths of the store from which he came and as he moved, Vegeta got a better view of what that was exactly. There was a naked mannequin posed like the famous statue of David in a small niche in the back and the young man looked it up and down, a hand on his hip with the other pinching his chin, and his mouth set in a line as his analytical eye surveyed his gold canvas. He turned to a brass mobile rack laden with hung attire behind him. Fugo withdrew two shirts, one as lavender as his mock turtleneck and the other as a dusty red violet. Before Vegeta passed another pillar and went further out of sight, he watched Fugo hold the shirts up to the mannequin one at a time, analyzing.

Vegeta kept walking; Fugo’s storefront gave way to another storefront of men’s looks that were more… yeah, it was definitely not business wear. All of it was definitely the most trendiest casual wear he’d ever seen. Like the sort of things he saw on magazine covers. And here he was walking past them. If he wanted, he could walk through a glass door and touch them. If he wanted, with the money in his wallet, he could _buy_ one of them. It was staggering to think of.

The looks on the mannequins changed to pants of varying materials and colors. Shirts of all different types including cropped. Coats and accessories of all sorts. Honestly, the only reason he would look out of place in that store would be because his own clothing was definitely cheaper and it showed. But he kept walking, past the door and past where he saw inside and saw a tall young man, older than Fugo, but not all that much so, more like the age gap of two brothers. But this guy was brunette with a black hat and he was wearing a black trench coat, wine-colored shirt that clung to his fit body the same way that Vegeta’s tank clung to his own, and black slacks that looked like something taken from a military uniform. Everything was trimmed in gold chains and gold buttons. He looked up as Vegeta past and nodded, Vegeta noting that the slant of the hat over his eye giving him an air of bad boy but simultaneously looking confident, in control, and a master of his domain. Yeah, Vegeta would go to that guy for everyday looks. But not today.

Suddenly Vegeta came to a storefront that was, well… The inside was darker than anything he’d seen so far. The lights were no longer golden-hued.

Suddenly Vegeta froze in his tracks. He recognized this environment immediately. It reminded him of Frieza’s club. Not that this look was specifically Frieza’s, but it was definitely a nightclub’s aesthetic.

His feet slowly moved him forward. Cautiously, carefully. He had to keep reminding himself that this place was different than Club Frieza, complet—

Vegeta stared inside, the mutli-colored lights glowed around a man with an ice white, hightop pompadour. He was older than the other two men. He wore a black, cropped tank and white pants. His belts, yes _belts_ , were slanted on his hip. His feet moved around in black, combat-style boots as the man was dancing. As Vegeta past the door, the steady thrum of club music sounded behind the seamed glass. It was a testament to the reinforced glass in front of the mannequins.

Before the man could catch sight of Vegeta, he moved past view.

Only to come to a stop at the next storefront. He was at the very end of the forum. And the store was…

Step after tentative step took him closer and closer to the door.

The mannequins were posed like great orators holding court complete with outstretched arms pointing to nonexistent things while holding court over an equally nonexistent audience. Each wearing items that were a step down from tuxedos. The suits were fine and were definitely a step up from business and day. He came up to the door, pulled open the door, and stepped inside.

Black and white caught his eye from the right. He looked over at mannequins wearing a wide style range of tuxes. The formal wear.

He walked over to his left as he waited for someone to show up from the tone that sounded at his entrance, giving a brief intermission to the classical music that was quietly playing on the hidden speakers.

Vegeta finally took control over his feet. He walked over to the far wall. Two rows of hung shirts were there. They were all black, but his eye caught the subtle variations in design from shirt to shirt. One caught his eye, basic in its design. He reached up for it and a gnarled old hand moved past his vision far faster than he could have thought possible. Its fingers met the black fabric as Vegeta turned to look… _down_ , he diverted his attention, at the small, elderly woman that had suddenly appeared next to him as if out of thin air.

“Egyptian cotton on par with the hotel’s most luxurious bed linens. Nice taste, young man.” She croaked at him with the approving look of a sage on her face.

He didn’t know what to think other than at least her hand hadn’t clamped over the price tag and he wasn’t being met with a glare when he’d looked over.

He stared, not sure what to say. Honestly he hadn’t been expecting this sort of treatment like… he was a real person, like… he was real customer. He… he didn’t know what to… do.

Suddenly she gave him a rather toothy grin, and her teeth were anything but perfect. They were gnarled with age like the joints of her fingers. Her skin was as creased and rough as the bark of a tree; she even had warts, giving her the visage of some sort of fairytale witch. The all-black clothing she wore didn’t help either, although the black beret tilted on her short, violet bob of hair. Actually, Vegeta was pretty sure that if she had a cigarette in some chic holder like they did during Princess Snake’s time, she’d look like some elite fashion designer. Very chic. Very… in her own way, timeless. For some reason, Vegeta got the urge to want that sort of style. For dinner. Tonight. He thought the Woman would approve.

“I take it _you_ are Vegeta.”

He nodded.

He eyes turned once more to the shirt he’d been reaching for. Her eyes scrutinized it the same way Fugo had his mannequin, but somehow her eyes conveyed instantly what the time-honored experience of age brought with it. What his eyes analyzed slowly, hers took in within seconds. At a single glance really.

She worked her mouth, nodding.

“Pretty good, but the Big Five have rather strict and fairly high standards. This would meet their minimum, _but_ …,” she let the word hang in the air, turning her eyes back to Vegeta’s, “we want to do better than the minimum, don’t we?”

Again, he nodded.

“I’ll be able to build on this or I can absolutely slap the shit out of anyone who would dare _not_ to look at you and keep staring at you as you and your lady friend made their way through the crowd, escorted by your waiter, to your table. I _dare_ whatever insolent so-and-so you’re having dinner with not to be distracted and intimidated by your mere presence. What do you say to that?”

Vegeta finally started to smirk for the first time in his whole shopping experience. It actually bordered on a grin.

“I think,” he began, “I like your style.”

She practically cackled as she turned away from the black, button-up shirt. He gave it one more fleeting look, he really did like it, before following the old crone with the great personality.

She led him to the back of the left side. To the white shirts, Vegeta’s face fell slightly.

“White,” he couldn’t help but remark.

“Yes, classic. Cliched, but for a reason. On someone with your skin tone and physique, white can make everything stand out. And in the right style, it can show off _everything_ ,” she leered.

Vegeta eyed the back of her head.

“Like to watch, do you?” He commented before he could stop himself. His eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to splutter, but she turned back to him with a smile.

“Surely you saw the handsome young men that run the other storefronts. I may be old, but I still have eyes, young man. Each and every one is eye candy, yes, but it’s anything but ‘pure and simple’. Each one knows their stuff. Naturally. They are very talented and gifted men when it comes to fashion and they take very good care of themselves and their clothes, but more than that, each and every one has a story that is reflected in their very aesthetic. An appeal that every man desires to be and every woman wants to be with. The true ‘pure and simple’ of it, Mister Vegeta, is that each and every young man that works here dresses exactly who they are. They don’t hide themselves, they aren’t ashamed of themselves. They embrace the colors they love and suit them best. They embrace their figures. They embrace their attitudes towards life and others. They are who they are.

“When they were first hired here, they had only their attire to recommend them really. Their outlandish appearances. I heard how others mocked them for even showing up dressed as they were and you know what, I remembered being mocked for my appearance. I’m _still_ mocked for my appearance even though my store is one of the most noted in the whole of Satan City. I took each one of them in and look at them now. Their garments may be more expensive, money well spent, but when they came to me in discount thriftstore items, they still looked like this. So, ready to impress your lady friend and whomever she’s meeting for dinner with you?”

“Yes,” Vegeta nodded.

Without hesitation, Baba turned to the rack of white shirts and immediately plucked one from its lineup. She moved on to another area of the department, black pants. She turned to him, eyed him up and down for a moment, and plucked one of them as well. He then followed her to the jackets.

“Miss Baba?”

“Call me Baba, and yes?”

“She’s not actually my friend.”

“Oh good Heavens, my dear Vegeta, they never are.” She turned to him with a smile, but a different one than her cackling one from before, it was like the one she’d gotten when speaking about the young men she’d given a chance to. The young men flourishing under her care. It was a smile of understanding… and of knowing.

“I’m not the first hooker that’s come through here, am I?” Vegeta said quietly.

She nodded. “ _But_ … you are the tastiest looking I have to say. What?” She balked at Vegeta’s feigned shocked and scandalized expression, “All those young men are extremely talented, the fact that they are also good looking is very coincidental.” She then led Vegeta over to the accessories, “Also, most of the hookers are usually women. Pretty, yes, but they don’t do a damn thing for me. I’m not dead, an old woman like me still needs something _hhhhot_ to look at.” She cackled again and this time Vegeta laughed with her.

Oh, yes, he liked her. He liked this old hag a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, yes, this is where the JoJo's Bizarre Adventure stuff comes in. Let alone is there Fugo, there's also Jotaro and Polnareff.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to iconic fanartist Nala1588 for the coverart here, a fabulous Vegebul version of the Pretty Woman movie poster. Check her out on twitter under the same name @nala1588, you will not be disappointed by her, trust me!
> 
> Another special thanks to my Beta readers, Froglady15 and Squee (aka AstralDragonSpirit), your help has meant so much. I really appreciate you both fitting me into your busy lives. I'm am so grateful to you both for that.
> 
> I hope all of you enjoy this story. At the time I'm posting this, I am currently beginning Chapter 20 of this story so do know that it's not over yet, not by a long shot so far. Enjoy!


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